


Mutuality

by spacestationtrustfund



Category: The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/F, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-26
Updated: 2015-06-26
Packaged: 2018-03-19 19:09:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 20,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3620985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacestationtrustfund/pseuds/spacestationtrustfund
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>EDIT: SAME STORY, NOW N/M/T</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The day begins with Thomas missing his alarm clock and falling out of his bed with a crash, a tangle of sheets and blankets, hitting his head on the wooden floor that Newt likes so much—not a very auspicious start to the twenty-four-hour-long period of time he has to suffer through.

“Are you okay in there?” Newt calls, poking his head into Thomas’s room with his tooth brush in his mouth. He’s still wearing pyjamas, and his hair is messy.

“I’m fine,” Thomas replies sulkily, scrambling to his feet and retrieving the alarm clock from where it has fallen behind the dresser. Newt smirks and disappears again; a moment later he yells out something Thomas can’t decipher, but it contains his name and also a few other words he doesn’t recognise.

“What? Newt, I can’t hear you.”

“I said,” Newt repeats, sticking his head around the corner again, “are you okay if Minho comes over? You don’t have anything else to do, it’s Saturday, and we did all our homework last night instead of going to Brenda’s bloody party like you wanted to”—he gives Thomas a condescending look, as if to remind him that Newt is obviously the better room mate—“so he just texted me asking if he could come over—maybe watch a movie or something. You don’t have to be there,” he adds at the look on Thomas’s face. “I know you don’t like him.”

“That is an understatement,” Thomas groans, rubbing his head where it connected with the floor. “I don’t like maths class. I don’t like Gally. I hate Minho. He is an arsehole and I don’t understand why you put up with him.”

Newt wrinkles his nose. “He’s my friend, jerk. Has been for years. We aren’t asking you to bloody hang out. Just—can he come over?”

Thomas sighs. He knows he’ll regret it later. But Newt is adorable when he pouts like that, and Thomas has to be a good room mate—right? “Yeah, whatever. I don’t care.”

Newt cheers, and vanishes around the corner into the bathroom. Thomas rubs his head again—he can already tell it’ll leave a bruise. He yawns as he rummages in his closet for something to wear, and ends up just grabbing sweatpants and a t-shirt, because who cares if he looks a bit rumpled? Certainly not Newt, and Thomas couldn’t care less what Minho thinks. He doesn’t really have a reason to dislike Newt’s other best friend, but something about the guy just ticks him off. Maybe the way Minho treats him like he isn’t there, or acts like Thomas’s and Newt’s apartment is his own, or hasn’t read Lord of the Rings—Thomas is seriously into the series, but Minho thinks it’s stupid. So maybe he does have a reason—or maybe he’s just saying that.

Thomas heads to the bathroom to find Newt perched on the counter, texting someone who is presumably Minho. “Hey,” Thomas says, when Newt doesn’t look up. “I’m going to run to the store for some food, okay? I’m out of chips and that isn’t good.”

“Okay,” Newt mumbles, still looking down at his phone. Thomas sighs and walks out of the room.

It isn’t anything specifically to do with Minho, he reasons as he jogs down the pavement towards the tiny corner store he and Newt usually go to when they crave fresh food. It mostly has to do with the possessive room mate thing. Minho is too possessive of Newt. The guy isn’t even Newt’s room mate, and he still treats Thomas like an inferior.

“Hi, Thomas,” Teresa says when he enters the shop, hurrying behind the counter to help him. “What is it today?”

“Just a bag of chips, Newt invited Minho over,” Thomas sighs, pulling out his wallet. Teresa winces sympathetically.

“Sorry, baby brother. I know you don’t like him.” She hands Thomas some chips and takes his card.

“I am not a baby, you’re only three minutes older than me, and I hate Minho,” Thomas replies grumpily. Teresa returns his card and winks at him as he leaves.

Minho’s car is in the driveway when Thomas returns home, a shiny new model that makes Thomas feel like a loser when he parks his ancient truck beside it. He’s tempted to scratch the paint—no college student should have a car that nice—but he doesn’t, because it isn’t the good room mate thing . . . which is seeming more and more pointless the more he thinks about it.

“Hey, Newt,” he says when he walks in, but Newt and Minho aren’t on the couch watching a movie or playing video games like they usually do, which Thomas finds odd, but he doesn’t care really, because it’s less of Minho he has to see. He puts the chips in the cabinet and kicks off his shoes. Newt hates when he leaves them on—“That’s the floor I bloody paid for, don’t go messing it up”—and over the year or so they’ve been room mates he’s learned not to get on Newt’s bad side.

He’s fully prepared to find Minho and Newt in the kitchen, so Thomas avoids that area and heads towards his room, when he hears Newt saying something. His curiosity gets the better of him and he instead stops in the hall—and there are Minho and Newt, pressed against the wall, making out like their very lives depend on it. Minho has Newt shoved back, and his hands are all over Thomas’s room mate, and it’s more the fact that it’s in his fucking hallway that makes Thomas speak up.

“Hey! You guys! I’m home, you know!”

Newt pulls back from Minho like he’s been burned, and his face is so red Thomas is tempted to compare it to his favourite red sweater Teresa knitted for him last Christmas. “I—Thomas, I—I don’t—”

Thomas snorts and shoves his hands into his pockets. Minho is watching him calmly, as though it’s perfectly okay to be making out with Newt in Thomas’s apartment, and it nearly drives Thomas over the edge. “I thought you were going to watch a movie, not suck each other’s faces off in the hall,” he snaps, causing Newt to turn even redder.

Minho raises an eyebrow smoothly. “We were waiting for you, actually. You wanna watch with us, maybe?”

Thomas debates with himself briefly, but what the hell. He can watch a movie with them. At least that’ll prevent them from fucking on the couch or something else he does not want to think about. “Yeah, sure.”

“You pick,” Newt offers, still blushing. Thomas doesn’t want to look at his friend, because he knows what he’ll see.

“Lord of the Rings,” Thomas says, just to annoy Minho.

Minho doesn’t look perturbed. “Fine. Get the DVD and turn on the TV, will ya? We’ll be right in.”

The last thing Thomas wants is for them to be alone, but he does as he’s asked. He slides the DVD into the slot just as Minho and Newt walk into the room. Newt’s face is wet; he must have washed it. No wonder, Thomas thinks dryly.

“Lord of the Rings, huh?” Newt asks, plopping down on the couch. Thomas has taken his seat in the middle, which in retrospect might not have been the best idea. He thought it would keep Minho away from Newt, when really it only puts Minho next to him.

“Yeah,” Thomas says. He takes the remote and turns on the TV. Minho settles next to him to watch the movie. Thomas studies him. Minho always seems to be dressed well, causal but attractive in his own way. His black hair is perfectly styled in most situations, except for now, when it’s messy from the makeout session in the hallway. He’s remarkably fit—Thomas knows for a fact he runs several miles every morning before coming to classes.  
Newt yawns. “I’m tired.” He leans his head on Thomas’s shoulder and closes his eyes. Thomas relaxes to allow Newt a more comfortable position. Now it’s just him and Minho, watching Legolas shoot the crap out of some orcs. Thomas doesn’t think he’s ever been in a more awkward situation in his life—except possibly at Brenda’s New Year’s party. He had gone with Brenda, strictly as friends—or so he’d thought, because when the clock hit midnight, he’d found himself kissing her. To be fair, Thomas was kind of drunk, like everyone else at the party, but it’d still been awkward to explain later that no, he wasn’t into girls. Thankfully Brenda had laughed and told him she wasn’t really into guys—and then she’d ended up with Teresa, and Thomas was fine with that. It was only slightly weird to have his one-time kiss lead to Brenda dating Thomas’s twin sister, but hey—he didn’t mind.

And now he’s stuck watching a movie with Minho, while Newt is asleep on his shoulder. Not awkward at all.


	2. Chapter 2

The movie is halfway over when Minho turns to Thomas. “Why does everyone like Legolas so much? He seems like kind of a jerk to me.”

Thomas clenches his jaw. “Why do you hate Lord of the Rings? It seems like a great movie to me—and a good series.”

“Touché,” Minho remarks. “Leave me my own opinion, dude. I can like whatever I want.”

“True, but you don’t have to be an asshole about it,” Thomas grumbles. He doesn’t really want to talk to Minho. He mostly wishes he’d done as he should’ve and told Newt not to invite Minho over.

“Really, you’re calling me an asshole? I’m not the one who’s possessive of Newt and talks on and on about how he hates me.”

Thomas bites his lips thoughtfully. “Has Newt been talking about me?”

“No, I’m a mind reader,” Minho snaps sarcastically, and then refuses to say another word, instead watching the battles onscreen with a fixation Thomas is sure Minho has never shown before—and that means it’s probably fake, he thinks resignedly, and Minho just doesn’t want to talk to him, and the stupid thing about it is that Thomas can’t decide whether he hates Minho or wants Minho to like him. Well, obviously he doesn’t like Minho, that would be—

Thomas sneaks a glance at Minho, the line of his jaw thrown into profile by the faint glow emanating from the television screen. He can’t think of a good word to fill the blanks. He doesn’t have some stupid crush on Minho, that’s what he means, he knows he likes Newt, everyone knows that, but there’s no way Newt would pass Minho over for Thomas, and Thomas is resigned to the fact he’ll have to find someone else; the crush was just a brief thing anyway, and he certainly doesn’t feel that way now . . .

Of course, Minho can’t stay silent, and he turns to Thomas again once Frodo has nearly destroyed the ring and saved Middle Earth, rubbing his eyes. “Holy shit, this movie is long. Are they all like this?”

“Yes,” Thomas says shortly, angry because he hasn’t thought about the fact that the whole series of movies is long, each one is long, and most of the length is due to pointless shots of CGI landscape. And he’s also upset because Minho pointed it out, and Newt has either been to polite to, or he just hasn’t noticed, and Thomas sure hasn’t paid attention.

Minho flicks his eyebrows up briefly. “Hm,” he says thoughtfully, returning his attention to the movie, which is almost over. “Other than that, I guess it isn’t that lame. I mean, the effects are pretty awesome. And that elf lady is hot.”

Thomas winces. “Galadriel,” he says, “it’s Galadriel,” and then he wonders—stop it, Thomas—why Minho would say that, especially because he’s dating Newt (apparently), so Thomas adds, “why would you say that? What, is Newt not good enough?” He means it to be light-hearted, but the jibe comes out as more surly.

“Newt’s adorable,” Minho replies, sounding insulted, “but why can’t I say that elf chick—Galadriel or whatever—isn’t hot too? Besides, I can’t date a fictional character, that’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” says Thomas defensively, remembering the several years he had an insane crush on Legolas.

“It’s pointless,” Minho says quietly. “They can never love you back. So what’s the point of making an effort? It always ends up hurting,” he says bitterly, and the cadence in his voice leaves Thomas wondering if Minho speaks from experience.

Thomas casts around for something to say in response to this sentiment, but comes up empty; eventually he blurts out, “Maybe you can’t choose who you fall in love with.”

“The nerd speaks truth,” scoffs Minho, but there’s a sudden catch in his voice, and Thomas wants to ask why it’s there. He holds back the urge successfully for about three seconds, then,

“What’s wrong?”

Minho doesn’t look at him, keeps his head facing the TV, but his words are obviously only for Thomas. “I know what it’s like, dude. I’m not some kind of doped-up loser who fucks around for money and pleasure. I can fall in love too, ya know. I have a heart, and it’s been broken before. I’m not gonna tell you the stories of my childhood, you dickhead, because you don’t need to know about that shit. But I will tell you this—Newt here is not the only guy I’ve loved, and he might not be the last. But between you and me . . .” Minho pauses to take a breath. “I’m kinda hoping he is.”

Newt wakes up a while later, and doesn’t seem to recognise the tension between Minho and Thomas. Instead, he’s in a good mood (unusual for Newt when he first wakes up, Thomas knows), and asks them how the movie was, and did he miss much, and how long does Minho want to stay?

“I don’t know,” Minho says, raising his eyebrows at Thomas over Newt’s head. “I might just stay the night, if that’s okay with Thomas. I mean, if he isn’t too bothered . . .” Minho smirks in Thomas’s direction, and Thomas ducks his head, fuming. He hates how Minho acts like he’s won or something like that. He hates how Minho talks to Newt. He hates Minho. Period.

“I’m fine with it. Tommy will be fine with it too,” Newt says firmly, swivelling around to glare at Thomas. “Right, Tommy?”

Thomas hopes his face isn’t as red as it feels. “Fine,” he grumbles, and to tell the truth he’s changed his mind about Minho a little bit. But there’s no way he’s about to admit it. “As long as you keep it PG or something.”

“PG-13 at least,” Minho protests, “that’s better than what I was thinking—NC-17,” but Newt silences him with a look.

“Look, Tommy, Minho will sleep on the bloody couch—yes, you will,” Newt says, as Minho makes a sound of protest. “We have to ease Tommy’s mind. You can have your room, and we’ll all be bloody happy. Got it?”

Minho and Thomas manage to say “Got it” at the exact same time, which causes Thomas to feel rather like he’s both annoyed and confused at the same time, and it’s not a very nice feeling. He starts to walk towards his room, almost hoping one of them will call him back into the room, but neither says a word, and so Thomas brushes his teethe and changes into his pyjamas and combs his hair in silence.

If only people like Minho didn’t exist, he thinks ruefully as he wipes his face with a cloth, then his life would be simpler and he wouldn’t have to be stuck on this shit that he’s gotten himself into.

Newt comes to his door once Thomas is in bed, and stands there running his fingernail down the grain of the wood on the frame. “Hey, Tommy—I know you’re not thrilled with me and Minho being together—don’t even say anything”—for Thomas has opened his mouth—“I can see it in your face. And I’m sorry, but I-I love Minho, and I d-don’t want to—” Newt takes a deep breath, trying to avoid crying. “I’m just sorry, mate. Really. I wish you two could get along.” He leaves before Thomas can reply—not that he’d know what to say.

Thomas lies in bed for what seems like longer than it is before he makes up his mind: Minho. He has to talk to Minho. He slides out from under the covers and makes his way into the other room, where Minho is still sitting on the couch, checking his phone. He looks up when Thomas walks into the room, an expression of confusion on his face. “What’s up—other than you?”

“Um,” says Thomas—yeah, very intelligent, Thomas—“I think—I just wanted to talk to you—I—I—” He stops, grateful for the dark to hide the anguish and embarrassment on his face.

“You want to talk to me?” Minho repeats.

“Did I stutter?” Thomas offers as a weak attempt as a joke. He sits on the arm of the couch, and Minho straightens up and turns off his phone, plunging the room into another, deeper darkness that Thomas’s eyes revolt at. “I just . . . I know you’re with Newt, but I . . . I guess . . . it’s cool, about you guys, but I also—” He’s terrible at this, Thomas thinks disheartenedly. “I also wanted to say . . . I kind of hated you for a while, and then I was thinking and—I know you don’t need my permission or anything, but I guess . . . you can have my approval.”

Minho raises his eyebrows—he does that a lot, Thomas notices absently—and nods, once. “Okay. I . . . that means a lot, it really does. You are—I know you’re Newt’s friend. I know you and him have been hanging out, and it must feel like I’m the intruder—so thanks, man. It really does mean a lot to me.”

“Right, then,” Thomas says, and he gets up and walks hesitantly to his room again, ignoring when Minho calls his name, softly so as not to wake Newt, getting back into bed but keeping his eyes wide open, knowing he did the right thing but wondering why it has to hurt so much.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi lovelies! I'm sorry I've been so behind with updating this story! I know I said I wasn't going to update it, but I think I changed my mind, and I'm going to see if I *can* write Thominewt. Please tell me if it sucks so I can fix it =^.^=
> 
> Wish me luck . . .  
> x Mochi

The next morning, Thomas wakes up to the smell of eggs frying in the kitchen and knows by instinct that Newt is already up, which means— _shit_ , he thinks as he gets out of bed—Minho must be awake as well. And sure enough, they’re both in the kitchen when Thomas wanders in, still wearing his pyjamas with his hair a mess, yawning.

Of course, Minho isn’t wearing a shirt, and Thomas refuses to let himself think about anything at all relating to Minho—or Newt, actually, who’s leaning on the counter as he cracks more eggs into a skillet, and how he’s also wearing pyjamas, but somehow he looks even better in the morning. Of course, how Thomas thinks about Newt is more of a friends/room mates kind of thing. But then Minho . . .

And, Thomas thinks decisively, as he goes to the fridge and gets out the orange juice, it’s goddamn fucking shit that he’s suddenly thinking about _Minho_ this way. About _both of_ those assholes in this fucking _shitty_ way. (That sentence alone contained more curse words than Thomas has used out loud in quite a while—it must be a big deal, he adds to himself as he pours juice and drinks it quickly, hoping the rush of sugar will clear his head.)

“How’d you sleep?” asks Newt when Thomas puts his empty glass in the sink.

“Oh, by getting in bed and closing my eyes, happens kind of automatically, you should try it sometime,” Thomas replies sarcastically, ignoring the sight of Newt looking concerned and Minho smirking at him. He still hates Minho. He still has to hate Minho. Nothing’s changed in his mind—he has to believe that.

“That’s very funny,” Newt says dryly. “Minho, what about you?”

“Well, considering I had to sleep on the couch and couldn’t have a bed, not bad,” says Minho smoothly, without a trace of resentment in his voice.

Newt sighs and puts eggs onto a plate. “I’m sorry, okay? But I don’t want Tommy to have a bloody heart attack.”

“I’m still here,” Thomas mutters, half to himself, to reassure himself that he hasn’t drifted away into the ceiling (which would, now that he thinks about it, be somewhat preferable to spending time with the both of them). “And, Newt? I’m okay with it. I was just a bit surprised yesterday. You could’ve told me before that you two were, um, you know, _together_ —but it’s fine. I’m glad you guys are happy.”

“Well, eat some breakfast then—you too, Minho—and then let’s get going,” Newt replies.

“What?” Thomas can’t think of a reason they’d be going anywhere. “Where are we going?”

“ _Class_ ,” Newt says, exasperated. “It’s Monday, Tommy. We have class to go to.”

“He’s got other things on his mind,” Minho says shortly, and yeah. He does. They just happen to not be the kinds of things that would be considered normal—unless normal is waking up one morning and discovering that you not only have a small-to-medium crush on your room mate, but also on your room mate’s gorgeous boyfriend, who you happened to hate the night before.

Thomas is not looking forward to the rest of his life at the moment.

 

***

 

Today’s classes suck so bad.

That’s saying something, because classes normally suck, but halfway through his first period English lesson, Thomas wants to stab himself with his pencil, which he’s sharpened to perfection and not bothered to ruin by touching to the paper. And hey, he thinks, as the professor drones on about past and present participles, there’s no way he’s going to take notes for this class anyway. Newt, who takes extremely detailed notes in every single lesson, will help him out—again.

Thomas catches Newt’s eye across the class. Newt raises and eyebrow, a trick Thomas has never mastered, and mouths, _“You should bloody take notes.”_

Even when he’s whispering, mouthing words across the room to Thomas, he can tell Newt is saying _bloody_ the same way he always does.

So Thomas can’t focus, and ends up drawing small flowers on his paper, since he’s going to ruin that pencil anyhow by chewing the eraser until there’s nothing left but a gnawed-on stub. He’s sure that Newt will scoff, but—“Please, Newt,” Thomas says, “seriously, I need to borrow your notes, I didn’t take any.”

“That’s not my bloody fault,” Newt replies, and class is actually over, and they’re walking out the door.

Thomas stops, lets his backpack fall to the floor, and actually decides on a whim to kneel down in front of Newt, who looks affronted. “What are you bloody doing, Tommy?”

“Please, sir,” Thomas begs, “may I have some notes?”

Newt hesitates, and Thomas likes to think he can see him weakening. Then—

“No.”

So Thomas spends the next few classes trying to take notes, and failing, because every time his eyes drift down to the paper, instead of the blank sheet he sees Minho smirking at him, or Newt looking concerned and caring. By the time Thomas has struggled through English, Biology, History, and Maths, he’s less trying to focus on what the professor is saying than focus on the professor instead and not making it too obvious that he’s totally and hopelessly lost.

After those classes, when he has some time for lunch, Thomas meets Newt under their favourite tree on the grounds. Neither of them has a class right after lunch, so they’re technically free for a couple hours. Thomas usually spends this time studying, but he gets the feeling that he won’t be able to follow his usual routine this time.

And what makes it worse (because only Thomas would think it’s worse to like _two_ hot guys) is that Newt calls Minho and invites him to hang out under _their tree_ , which Thomas knows he’s being way too possessive over, but still—why does Minho suddenly get to hang out with them by _their tree_ when Newt and Thomas did just that for the longest time . . . _without_ anyone else? It doesn’t seem quite fair to Thomas, but he knows he’s in a grumpy mood, and probably shouldn’t be held accountable for his thoughts.

Minho arrives, and sits down next to Newt. Apparently they’ve decided that with their relationship out in the open, there’s no need for them to hide it around Thomas, and so Minho kisses Newt when he sits down, and they hold hands for most of the time.

Thomas tries not to think about what it would be like to hold hands with either (or both) of them, because he knows it isn’t something that’s going to happen, and he’s a realist, not an optimist.

“So how’re things going?” asks Minho after a while of taciturn awkwardness that Thomas really is starting to hate.

“Fine,” replies Newt before Thomas can even decide if he wants to talk to them or not. “But Tommy here didn’t take notes, and now he’s in a bit of a crisis. Poor guy,” adds Newt, with a grin on his face that says plainly he doesn’t really pity Thomas at all.

“Oh, but here I was thinking you were cut out for a life of academia,” sighs Minho. “The little nerd, right?”

“Shut up,” says Thomas halfheartedly.

“Yeah, Minho,” adds Newt. “Don’t tease the nerd. He’s touchy about his  _feel_ ings.”

They both start laughing, and Thomas retaliates by throwing the contents of his nearly full water bottle over both of them. He mostly hits Minho, because Newt had the sense to duck before getting splashed. Minho yelps as he pulls at his sodden shirt. “The nerd splashed me!”

“I noticed,” says Newt, wiping water off his face.

“My shirt’s all wet,” complains Minho, looking very downtrodden over the incident.

“Yeah? Well, that usually happens when you get splashed by water,” says Thomas, irritated slightly. “You should probably dry it off, or get a new shirt, or—”

Minho rolls his eyes at Thomas’s suggestions, tugs his shirt over his head, lays it on the grass beside him where the sun hits, and continues eating without looking at either of them.

Thomas realises he’s staring and quickly looks down at his food. “Or that would work, too,” he says quietly. Stupid, stupid idea, he chastises himself. Why did he have to splash Minho? Why not something else?

“Ah, lunch’s almost over,” says Minho suddenly, starting to stand up. “I better go.”

“You need to put on a shirt,” says Newt dryly.

“I don’t have another,” Minho smirks. “Thanks to this nerd here, now it’s all wet, and I don’t have a way to dry mine before class.”

Thomas turns red, but Newt sighs and takes off the white hoodie he wears everywhere and all the time, even in the summer heat. “You can wear this, and you’ll be fine. But go to class now, okay?”

“Whatever you say,” replies Minho in an uncharacteristically gently voice, taking the jacket from Newt. Thomas looks away while they kiss, ans when he looks back Minho is running across the grass, then disappearing into one of the buildings. Thomas shakes his head to clear it while Newt packs up their lunch. He doesn’t know how he’s going to be able to go through this.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m BACK and I have decided to continue this . . . finally . . . long story, but my friend Chloe sat me down after reading this and told me "YOU HAVE TO WRITE MORE, I AM NOT LETTING YOU OUT OF YOUR ROOM UNTIL YOU WRITE MORE, AND ALSO NO COMPUTER OR PHONE (etc.)" and she stuck to her word . . . terrifyingly enough (thanks, Chlo) . . . so I will indeed continue . . . I also edited the earlier chapters, so if anyone has been wondering: yes, there are some details changed . . .
> 
> x Mochi

 

It turns out he doesn’t, because Minho and Newt decide to go out to dinner that night, and leave Thomas alone at the apartment wondering why Newt had to decide to start dating Minho of all people. Newt’s a shy little thing, and Minho’s so brazenly _not—_ it hardly seems like a natural match to have. But well, if they really love each other, than Thomas isn’t really complaining . . . well, not that much, anyway. Maybe a little. But not a lot, because he’ll keep his thoughts to himself, for the sake of his best friend/room mate and his best friend’s/room mate’s annoying(ly hot) boyfriend.

So Thomas ends up wandering out of the apartment and into his car, and finds himself down town in the little college town they live in. There isn’t much to see, just a few tourist-y shops and stuff like that, but there are a few good bars that he could hit up if he’s in the mood. Being a college town, it isn’t expected to have much—and it certainly lives up to its expectations, Thomas thinks dryly as he drives randomly around the streets.

He parks behind a small coffee shop that Newt used to work at and decides to go to the only bar he actually likes to go to, the one around the corner, because not only do his friends (Clint and Jeff) own the place, they also give him free drinks, and it isn’t that big of a place so it isn’t usually that crazy. He’s taken Newt there a few times, but Newt doesn’t really like to go out, he prefers to stay at home studying or watching movies and TV shows, so Thomas tends to make his rare excursions alone.

Tonight they’re playing a soft, sad song when he walks in (the bouncer doesn’t even card him; Thomas knows that the guy probably recognises him from previous trips) that Thomas finds annoyingly appropriate to his mood. He buys a drink, mostly to have something to do, because he’s never  _ really _ been the sort to get drunk a lot. Maybe once or twice, a little, but not that much, really. It just isn’t his thing.

Thomas wanders up to the front of the room, and notices that his friends, Clint and Jeff, are standing in a corner watching the small crowd of people filling the room. It’s a relatively low energy kind of thing, so Thomas waves at them, and they wave back.

The college town Thomas, Newt, Minho, and the rest of them live in has been known well for the actual college. Newt likes to jokingly call it the “gayest college in the country,” a name which honestly isn’t that far off the mark. Thomas doesn’t know what it is about the place, but he and Newt don’t know more than a half-dozen opposite sex couples, and Thomas’s lived in this place for almost two years now, Newt even longer.

Thomas looks around at the people in the room and realises with a rather sickening feeling in his stomach that most of them are couples (same-sex or otherwise) and he looks startlingly out of place, alone and sober on such a night. The atmosphere is soft and romantic, and the music gentle and loving, and Thomas is absolutely not in the mood for romance or fluff or love or any of that shit at all. But he knows he will be, after a few drinks, so he gives the glass in his hand one brief look before downing it in one go and pouring himself another. He needs to get back in the thick of things, after all, and what better way to do so?

 

***

Several hours later, Thomas is drunk enough to be having a better time, but sober enough to know he’s too drunk to drive himself home in this state. At the moment, he’s trying to flirt with a cute girl who’s definitely either interested or wasted, or possibly both, but in either case Thomas knows with increasing certainty that he has to get home before Newt finishes his date with Minho and comes back to the apartment only to find Thomas missing, so he politely leaves the girl and makes his way outside to call Newt so that he can get a ride, since everyone else in the bar is as drunk as he is, and he wouldn’t trust most of them to drive him anywhere even while sober.

The phone rings and no one answers, and Thomas forces himself not to panic, repeating over and over to himself that  _ he can find someone to help, he is an adult and there’s nothing wrong with him, etc. _ until the line finally gets through and Thomas actually breathes a sigh of relief.

But the voice on the other end of the line isn’t Newt’s. The words—“Hey, Tommy, what’s up?”—are right, but the accent is different and the tone is different and Thomas isn’t too drunk to forget what his room mate and best friend sounds like, and he starts to panic, because someone must’ve stolen Newt’s cell phone, and now who can he call for a ride if  _ someone stole Newt’s cell phone? _

“Thomas?”

Suddenly the voice clicks into place in Thomas’s head—Minho. Somehow, Minho has Newt’s phone. He must’ve stolen it, of course, that makes sense to Thomas, Minho was being the asshole he always is and took Newt’s phone and now Thomas can’t talk to Newt and he doesn’t know what to do. “I need to talk to Newt,” he says, and even in the state he’s in he registers how pathetic his voice sounds.

“Thomas? Hey, dude, are you drunk? What happened to you? Where are you?”

“Clint’s and Jeff’s,” says Thomas automatically. His brain is still having trouble understanding why Minho has Newt’s phone. Weren’t Minho and Newt—weren’t they doing something—they’re friends, Thomas knows, weren’t they—?

“Okay, man, I’m gonna come pick you up, I know where that place is, just stay where you are, okay?” The voice on the other end of the line that apparently belongs to Minho is firm and if Thomas weren’t focused on trying to figure out why Minho has Newt’s phone he would notice the note of worry his room mate’s boyfriend has in his words and  _ yes _ he remembers now, Minho is Newt’s boyfriend, and he’s a total asshole, and Thomas doesn’t like him, that all makes sense now, Thomas remembers everything.

He’s still fuming at Minho when Minho shows up in his car, his stupid fancy car, and hurries over to Thomas with a concerned look on his face, but all Thomas can focus on is that Minho is not Newt, and where the hell is Newt? “Newt,” he manages to say.

“No, Minho,” says the person helping him into the car, who definitely isn’t Newt, because Newt isn’t Asian, he’s British. “Christ, Thomas, what did you do to yourself? How many drinks did you have, twenty?”

“I dunno,” mumbles Thomas, bewildered, because Minho is helping him, and Minho is an asshole, _why_ is he doing this? “I don’t remember, where’s Newt?”

“Newt’s at your apartment, dude, he can’t drive right now, he’d fall asleep at the wheel. But seriously, Thomas! I never thought you would be the one to get drunk like this, you seem so, I don’t know, normal and . . . uptight, almost.”

“’M not,” Thomas protests.

“Yeah, I can tell,” says Minho wryly. “You owe me one for picking up your drunk ass tonight, dude.”

The interior of Minho’s car is dark, except for the occasional flash when they pass a street light, and the faint luminescence of the digital clock which illuminates the dash with its glow. Minho focuses on the road, seemingly oblivious to Thomas watching him; he’s wearing a sleeveless shirt and Thomas finds himself unable to look away as the tiny lights of the city reflect off Minho’s arms. Thomas is absolutely and unarguably confused, because he is supposed to hate Minho, the rational part of him is telling him to hate Minho, but the rest of him is drawn to the way Minho bites his lip as he drives, and taps his fingers on the wheel every time he makes a turn, and how the colours flickering through the glass of the windows briefly lights up his silhouette, and still Thomas is confused and still he hasn’t quite rationalised why Minho answered Newt’s phone in the first place.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” blurts out Thomas suddenly, because he’s genuinely curious, and because something than might be related to the amount of alcohol he’s consumed seems to inhibit the part of his brain that decides what to say and what not to say in situations such as this one.

Minho doesn’t avert his eyes from the empty road in front of him, continuing to tap his fingers along the edge of the steering wheel in a melody Thomas feels like he should recognise but can’t quite place at the moment. “You’re Newt’s room mate and his best friend, and even if I think you’re a dick, well, Newt’s opinion counts for something. Besides, it might not seem like it to you, but I actually care about you, asshole.”

“No no, you’re not supposed to like me,” Thomas says, distressed. “If you like me I can’t hate you, and I want to hate you! I don’t want to like you! We’re supposed to hate each other,” he repeats, unsure of why the words coming out of his mouth don’t match what his brain is telling him to say. “We aren’t _supposed_ to like each other . . .”

Thomas thinks he sees Minho grin as they pull into the parking lot and Minho turns off the engine. “Yeah, well, I don’t like to follow stereotypes. I can’t hate you now, you annoyingly adorable asshole. Now c’mon, let’s get you inside.”

It turns out Thomas is incapable of this action, so Minho helps him up the steps and to the door. Disoriented, Thomas tries to fumble for his room key, but Minho stops him. “It’s okay, I have a key,” he says, and Thomas doesn’t think about why Minho has a key—especially since Thomas hasn’t given him one—and gives up so that Minho can open the door.

Minho half-carries Thomas to his room, and although Thomas really wants to move on his own, his brain is apparently still incapable of focusing on more than one thing at a time, and right now he’s noticing how very _attractive_ Minho is, and Thomas no longer thinks about Newt or the fact that Minho is some else’s boyfriend and instead thinks only about that moment, and then he stops thinking at all, and pulls Minho closer to him until they’re kissing.

Thomas is too drunk and too tired to kiss properly, much less pay the proper amount of attention to things, but one thing he latches onto at once is that _Minho doesn’t pull away from him_. Thomas is kissing Minho and Minho is kissing Thomas back. Thomas doesn’t know exactly how long the kiss lasts, but then Minho lets go of him and without another word he’s gone. Exhausted and bewildered and still with the taste of alcohol in his mouth, Thomas manages to get into bed (or, more accurately, fall on top of it) but his mind won’t relax. He was drunk, that was his excuse for kissing Minho, but Minho was definitely sober enough to drive Thomas back to his and Newt’s apartment.

So what was his excuse for kissing Thomas then?


	5. Chapter 5

The light trickles into his eyelids as if the sun’s rays had been filtered and directed only to condense in Thomas’s line of vision for the sole purpose of waking him abruptly from the pleasanter world of sleep where everything was empty and dark and his head didn’t feel like it had been used as a drum by multiple enthusiastic percussionists.

Thomas blinks and groans as he rubs his eyes; his skull is throbbing and his mouth tastes like stale alcohol. He hasn’t been drunk like this in years, and now he can see why—the hangover is _not_ worth the brief lapse in responsibilities and other problems.

The door swings open, revealing even more light. Thomas tries to cover his eyes with his hands, but his arms are too heavy. From the doorway comes a low and familiar laugh. “Jesus Christ, Tommy,” Newt says, chuckling. “Exactly _how_ many drinks did you have last night?”

“I forgot,” moans Thomas, the words coming out as a croak of misery as he tries to shield his face with his pillow. And oh shit, he’s remembering now, and the memory of Minho’s lips on his causes guilt to wash over Thomas like an ocean wave. If only it hadn’t happened, if only it hadn’t happened, if only it hadn’t happened, if only . . .

“Well, I made breakfast, although I don’t think you’ll want food,” says Newt happily, and Thomas wants to smack him. “Sorry I didn’t come and get you, by the way, it was later and I was tired and Minho offered . . . I should’ve gotten you anyway, I know, but he’s a better driver in any case . . .”

He had kissed Minho.

Thomas was still having trouble believing that the kiss between the two of them had actually happened the night previously and not been a figment of his far too overactive imagination.

“So what did you do, go to Clint’s and Jeff’s and get wasted?” asks Newt, still with that oh-so-annoying amusement plain in his voice. “It’s weird for you, Tommy, I wouldn’t have thought you’d drink—especially not this much—”

He had kissed Minho.

“But anyway, you must be real bloody hungover, Tommy. Shit, that’s never fun. I made coffee earlier, if that helps, it’s cold by now but I’ll warm it back up. Damn, Tommy, I just can’t believe you . . . damn.”

He had kissed Minho.

Newt is right there, and Thomas knows he should tell him, he should say it, just three simple words— _I kissed Minho_. He has to be a good friend, he should tell Newt he kissed Newt’s boyfriend, he needs to confess—

With a sigh and a small shake of his head, Newt starts to leave the room, hesitating for a moment in the doorway. “It’s Saturday, so no classes, of course—”

“I know what day it is,” grumbles Thomas, slightly irritated—he isn’t _that_ hungover.

“—so you can sleep in if you want, I’m going out later with Minho, he’s going to pick me up but he didn’t tell me where we’re going, so that means it could be anywhere. But I’ll text you or call you or something when it’s time to be back here, okay?”

The casual way that Newt throws Minho’s name into the conversation makes Thomas wince and close his eyes again, wishing nothing more than to be able to disappear and never have to say anything or do anything or think anything or even exist in a world where both Minho and Newt also exist in ever again.

“—but anyway, do as you like,” Newt finishes, rubbing his face so that Thomas’s eyes are caught on the way his hair reflects the light, and then Newt’s gone. Thomas blinks in the futile hope that he’ll be able to rid himself of it all by tricking himself into thinking he’s okay, but the headache and all the other problems are stubbornly persistent. Thomas decides in that moment that he’ll never drink again, or at least not if it results in this kind of day-after unpleasantness. The brief time of being without worry is way overrated.

 

***

 

Coffee does absolutely nothing to help, and Thomas really would avoid it altogether, except for the fact that he doesn’t think he’d be able to move around if he didn’t have something forcing him to.

He needs space to think, and he knows he won’t be able to get that if he stays in the same house as Newt, with Minho coming over and Thomas being unable not to think about what they must be doing, especially since he’s had a glimpse of what that could be. Thomas doesn’t know what he hopes to accomplish, other than convince himself he can be happy with someone who doesn’t happen to be either Minho or Newt, considering that Thomas is now stupidly attracted to the both of them. He needs space. He needs someone to listen to him, who won’t judge him, and who won’t pose a possible source of attraction.

So Thomas makes his decision a few days later, and of course Teresa is thrilled—and Brenda doesn’t mind, which Thomas is glad of, because although he knows Brenda loves Teresa, the memory of their awkward kiss is still present when he sees her. But it’ll be a good chance to get to know her better, he thinks.

Newt is concerned, reasonably so. “I worry about you, Tommy,” he says once Thomas announces his decision to spend a weekend at Teresa’s and Brenda’s. Minho lurks in the doorway, watching the exchange, and Thomas tries to ignore him. “You’ve been acting weird lately, and I don’t want you to do something stupid and regret it.”

“I’ll be fine,” says Thomas, while thinking _if only he knew_ privately to himself. He folds another shirt and inserts it into his suitcase. Teresa and Brenda live about a half an hour away, not that far, but Thomas doesn’t plan on coming back to get anything during the time he’s away. He grabs his copy of the _Lord of the Rings_ box set, feeling Minho’s eyes on him and wondering why his life has to be such a tangled messed-up disaster.

 

***

 

Teresa is absolutely sympathetic and absolutely charmed.

“I cannot believe you have the hots for Minho, Tom,” she trills for about the tenth time since Thomas arrived an hour earlier. “Brends, can you believe it? No, I can’t either! And just think, only a few weeks ago you were going on about how you hated him. Oh my goodness . . . how’s Newt dealing with this?”

“He doesn’t actually . . . know.” Thomas winces and looks over at Brenda, who gives him a pitying look. Teresa’s been grilling Thomas since he arrived and told her the reason for his visit, and Brenda has been a sympathetic force ever since.

“Oh, that explains it!—I don’t know Newt that well, but I think he’d absolutely freak out if he knew you kissed his boyfriend. By the way, Tom, has Minho said anything about that since you two . . . you know?”

Thomas shakes his head and then decides that isn’t enough. “He hasn’t spoken to me at all,” he says, trying to keep the pathetic longing out of his voice. “I don’t think I want him to, I wish none of this had ever happened, Teresa. That’s it, really.”

Teresa rubs her hands briskly. “All right then, we’ll pretend none of it ever happened, and maybe it’ll all blow over. For the time you’re here, Tom, we won’t mention Newt or Minho at all. And give me that,” and she takes Thomas’s phone out of his hands, “and don’t touch it again,” and she sets it on a high shelf and turns back to Thomas, folding her arms resolutely.

“While you’re here,” says Brenda gently (she’s much quieter than Thomas remembers, but she’s nice, too), “we won’t talk about it. Now, Teresa made you cookies, because she thinks you don’t get enough to eat”—“he doesn’t,” Teresa interrupts—“so you should eat them before I do, ’cause Teresa, for all her faults, is a fabulous cook.”

Cookies sound good, Thomas thinks as Teresa goes to get them and Brenda carries his suitcase up the stairs to the room he’ll be staying in for the weekend. And maybe this won’t be so bad after all.

 

***

 

His room is nice and small, with only a bed and a dresser, which is just the way Thomas likes it. It feels slightly empty without his movie posters, but it’s a nice kind of empty, the kind that doesn’t ask anything of you, and lets you be yourself.

Thomas sets his bag on the bed and looks out the window, which provides him with a rather splendid view of the street below. He has absolutely no idea what he’s going to do when he’s here, with Teresa and Brenda, but all Thomas can think about is the fact that Minho and Newt are _not_ here, and therefore he won’t have a problem with them—right?

“Tom?” Teresa’s voice comes drifting up the stairs. “Brenda and I are going out to eat at the little Italian place we like to go to. It’s just a couple of blocks away from the house.”

“Oh,” says Thomas, wondering why they’re telling him this. “Have fun then.”

Teresa manages to laugh and sigh at once. “Tom, you absolute dork. Of _course_ you’re coming with us! You think we’d leave you alone after what happened? No, you’re going out to eat with us, and you’re not going to pay, and don’t even try to argue with that because I stole your wallet as well as your phone, and I’m not giving them back until you have to go back to your own apartment.”

Thomas isn’t sure what to say in response to this, and his brain comes up with, “You stole my wallet?” and “You’re not giving me my phone?” at the same exact time, which unfortunately results in a nearly unintelligible string of words that even he can’t decipher.

Teresa laughs at this and Thomas can even hear Brenda trying not to giggle in the background. “We’re going to go in about fifteen minutes,” Brenda calls up the stairs, “so change if you want to, you don’t have to—it isn’t that fancy of a place—and we can take Teresa’s car.”

Thomas doesn’t have his car with him; Newt dropped him off at the girls’ place at Teresa’s request, since she decided Thomas needed to “not have a way to travel” for a while. He doesn’t really mind, because he doesn’t really like driving, but it does feel a little weird to not have the ability to go wherever he wants to whenever he wants to.

“And you are _not_ paying, I repeat, not one cent of the ridiculously overpriced charge,” Teresa adds firmly. “So get your lovesick ass down these stairs when you’re ready and we’ll have some moderately crappy Italian food to celebrate your brief vacation from the world of messed-up possible threesomes.”

Thomas thinks that’s a wonderful idea.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter edited and fixed!

 

The Italian place turns out to be surprisingly fantastic, considering how Teresa and Brenda spoke of it, although Thomas does agree that the food is remarkably overpriced. True to their word, the girls refuse to let Thomas pay, although he argues for quite a while. Teresa ends it by threatening to yell at the top of her voice “Tom, you need to let us pay because we love you,” and Thomas’s dislike of humiliation overcomes his dislike of people doing things for him that he doesn’t deserve.

Friday ends smoothly, and Teresa and Brenda are wonderful hosts. After dinner at the Italian place, the girls drive Thomas back to their house and get out the expensive wine they keep for when Teresa’s parents visit (Thomas’s protests are in vain once again) and watch _The Princess Bride_ , one of Teresa’s and Brenda’s all-time favourite movies, and after that they engage in a long discussion about whether or not Buttercup was pathetic (pros: she was ready to kill herself because she didn’t want to marry someone; cons: she fought well and had her own opinions and ideas). Thomas is starting to feel comfortable and at home, sitting on the rug in the makeshift living room with a glass of wine and his sister and her girlfriend, chatting absentmindedly about movies they like.

And he hasn’t thought about either Minho or Newt—much—during the entire course of the night. When he finally goes to bed a little after eleven (which is late for him when he isn’t studying for exams, but he doesn’t think about those either, because he always studies with Newt) he’s tired and happy and isn’t missing his friends—yet.

The next day Thomas wakes up and has a momentary instant of pure fear, looking up at the unfamiliar ceiling, in the unfamiliar bed, with unfamiliar sounds and smells and feelings, but then his head clears the fog of sleep away and he remembers—he’s at Teresa’s and Brenda’s for the weekend, trying not to think about—

He gets out of bed slightly grumpy, but unable to stay mad when Teresa bursts into the room and announces in her best impersonation of Effie Trinket from _The Hunger Games_ , “Up, up, up! It’s going to be a big, big, big day!” with Brenda following apologetically in her wake.

Thomas is used to Teresa’s antics, but it’s been a while, so he ends up stumbling backwards and crashing into the unfamiliarly placed dresser and collapsing to the floor in a distressed heap to the sound of Teresa exclaiming in surprise and swooping over to help Thomas up in a way that does less to help him than it confuses him.

Eventually, they get downstairs and it turns out Brenda has made breakfast today—eggs and waffles, the way Thomas likes them. He doesn’t know if Teresa’s prepared her or not, but when he asks Brenda says shyly, “That’s just the way I like them too,” and smiles widely. Thomas decides to get over the awkwardness with Brenda and like her anyway.

“So, Tom,” says Teresa through a mouthful of waffles and scrambled eggs, “today we didn’t really have any plans, except sleeping in late and other, uh, stuff along that line,” she grins at this and Brenda smacks her on the shoulder, “but of course we’d do something special now, since you’re here! So what d’you want to do today? You pick—anything I can do, I will do.”

Thomas is surprisingly pleased by this offer. “Um, I don’t know what there is to do around here. Are there any, I don’t know, book stores or something?”

Brenda nods as she serves out more scrambled eggs, ignoring Thomas’s wordless protestations that she really doesn’t need to do that, he can go and get them himself, it’s only a few steps away. “There’s a nice one just down the road from here. Ter, your car or my car?”

“My car, because yours sucks,” says Teresa amiably as she starts gathering dishes. “And Tom, darling? Don’t even ask, because I’m not letting you wash these dishes. Over my dead body, maybe. But probably not even then.”

Brenda nods seriously. “She would rise from the grave just to stop you doing chores.”

“Hell yes I would,” Teresa announces proudly.

“If only she would act like this when _I’m_ the one doing the chores,” Brenda says confidentially to Thomas in a low voice. “But no, then she’s only too happy to let someone else take care of it . . .”

“You’re such a bitch,” Teresa says, but she’s smiling at Brenda. Thomas takes a bite of his waffles with a weirdly jealous sort of feeling. It isn’t that he’s jealous of Brenda, or of Teresa, but that he wishes he had someone to look at him like that, with the love so obvious in their face.

“Anyway,” Brenda says finally, “we can go in about a half an hour.”

“Sounds good,” Thomas says quietly. He finishes his food and, since Teresa is still refusing to let him wash dishes, wanders back upstairs.

Thomas ends up sprawled on the bed reading _The Fellowship of the Ring_ for the thousandth time, less reading for the story than he is reading for the words and how they sound inside his head. He tries not to think about watching the _Lord of the Rings_ movies with Newt, cuddled together on the couch, laughing at the battle scenes. He tries not to think about the most recent time he watched that movie . . . the time when Minho was sleeping over . . . and how they talked . . . Minho said he only loved Newt, no one else . . . he hoped Newt would be the last person he loved . . . Thomas has no chance and he knows it, but the kiss . . .

“Thomas?”

It’s Brenda, knocking softly on the door. When Thomas says to come in, she pushes the door open slightly and leans in, her long brown hair falling over he shoulder and covering her big eyes. Thomas thinks she would look even prettier if she pulled her hair back. “Teresa’s ready to leave whenever you are.”

“All right,” says Thomas, marking his page in the book carefully and setting it on the dresser next to him. He still isn’t used to the layout of the house, but it’ll come over time. “I’m ready.”

 

***

 

That night, lying in the unfamiliar bed in the unfamiliar room, Thomas thinks about Teresa and Brenda. Their relationship seems so safe, so happy, so perfect. He knows they have to have some fights or arguments, they have to have their faults just like anyone else and everyone else, but he can’t think of any of them right now. They seem to be presenting themselves as a perfect couple—existing in harmony and tranquillity, so secure in their love for each other.

Thomas gives himself one of his regular mental shakes. Just because they seem to be one thing doesn’t mean they are. But he should think about it too much—after all, it isn’t _his_ relationship, because _he_ doesn’t have a relationship. Thomas tries not to dwell too much on that thought.

But still he can’t ignore the twinge of jealousy he feels when he sees them together. It’s the same feeling he gets when he sees Newt and Minho together. Only in that case he is jealous of them as people—but _both_ of them—

Thomas closes his eyes and wills himself to sleep. It will do no good to dwell on thoughts of Minho and Newt, not during the weekend, when he’s supposed to be avoiding things like that.


	7. Chapter 7

 

Teresa and Brenda have a simple and romanticised version of life that Thomas finds himself falling into during the entirety of Saturday and Sunday. They get along well and remain in equilibrium, with only a few small fights every so often, and they’re nothing bad. Nothing like those he knows Minho and Newt have.

No, because Thomas is _not_ thinking about—

“Thomas, Teresa says to get your butt downstairs and help her making lunch.” It’s Brenda again, peering into his borrowed room with an almost apologetic look on her face. “Sorry. She’s in kind of a vindictive mood. She gets like this sometimes, and it’s best to just humour her.”

“I heard that!” shouts Teresa, her voice echoing through the walls and ceiling (or floor, depending on which level of the house he’s on, Thomas reminds himself absently) with no small force. “Tom! Come help me make food!”

“I can’t make food, sis,” Thomas complains loudly. “You know that—remember what happened last time I tried to make food for you?” He’d tried baking Teresa a cake for her eighteenth birthday, and it had turned out to be a shapeless mess of icing and candles. The cake was the least of his worries, however—the fire alarm had gone off and Teresa, in a panic, had called the fire department. They had arrived with pomp and sirens, and Thomas had shamefacedly told them _no_ , it was a false alarm, no harm intended. Needless to say, Teresa’s birthday cake had been ruined.

“Yeah, I remember that,” Teresa shouts back. “Tell Brends to help then, she’s refusing to because she’s quote-unquote _tired_.”

“I can help if you want,” Thomas shouts in reply, at the same time Brenda complains, “I _am_ tired.”

“Thank you,” Teresa yells in response, so Thomas heads down the stairs and joins Teresa making lunch (which turns out to be only sandwiches in any case). After lunch, they go out to see a movie, then spend time at the park, then go to a small diner and order ice cream and smoothies, then return home—Thomas realises with a shock that he’s already referring to Teresa’s and Brenda’s place as _home—_ and Thomas crashes in his room, exhausted but happy.

Teresa comes to see him after a short while, lingering by the doorway. She doesn’t mention anything about Thomas’s personal life, only talking about how much fun it’s been to have him visit, and how much she hopes he’ll come back to see them again soon, and how much trouble he’s going to be in if she doesn’t hear from him once he’s back at the apartment.

And Thomas realises with a shock that today is the last day that he’s staying over with his sister and her girlfriend, and he has to go back to his own apartment _that very night_ , and he won’t be able to hide from Minho— _Newt_ —any more—he doesn’t want to hide forever, but he also doesn’t want to see them again, because he still hasn’t figured out how to tell Newt. He _has to tell Newt._ And he’s going to tell Newt. Thomas just doesn’t know _how_ he’s going to pull that act off.

Hey, Newt. I gotta tell you something—you remember that night I got drunk and you had Minho drive me home? Well, I kissed him, but it isn’t really my fault because I was wasted. But I also have a crush on him, and you as well, and there’s no way that I can work out how I—

No, that won’t work, but Thomas doesn’t know what will, and time is running out for him to figure it out.

And then all too soon Teresa is helping Thomas pack and offering her car and loading his bag into the trunk and he’s saying good-by to Brenda and then Teresa is driving him back to the apartment and then they’re on the highway and then they’re back in the city and then they’re pulling up to the complex where Thomas and Newt live and stopping in front of their apartment, number 206, and Thomas still doesn’t know what to do, he still doesn’t know, still doesn’t know, doesn’t know, but what can he do but—?

Newt opens the door and flies over to Thomas, pulling him into a hug. “You survived, Tommy, welcome home! How was it? Was Teresa okay? Did you do anything fun?” He’s bursting full of words, and Thomas doesn’t know what to do, what to say, what to think.

Then Newt steps back and Thomas can get a good look at him. He’s wearing a t-shirt and jeans as usual, and his favourite white hoodie. His blond hair is messy and sticks up on one side like he’s slept on it. His cheeks are pink with the excitement and he’s grinning widely at Thomas. “It’s bloody good to see you, Tommy. I missed ya, it was no fun with only Minho to keep me company.”

“I beg your pardon?” says a silky voice, and Minho appears and walks over to Newt, looping his arm around Newt’s waist and pressing his face into Newt’s shoulder. “Was I not a good enough substitute, babe?”

Thomas doesn’t know for sure, but he thinks that look Minho has is directed at him, and it’s such a wicked look that Thomas can’t think at _all_ , and he grabs his bag out of Teresa’s hands, mutters a hasty good-by to his sister, and flees into the apartment and to his room without another word to either of them.

He tried, he did, Thomas reminds himself, but what can he do? There’s no way, he realises, no way that he’ll be over either of them. Not any time soon. With a self-pitying sigh, Thomas finds his computer still on his bed and does what he always does when he’s in trouble—he watches _Lord of the Rings_.

About halfway through the movie there’s a knock on the door, and a moment later Minho’s voice comes through the wood. “Hey, it’s me. Can I come in?”

Thomas pauses the movie just as Legolas and Gimli are in the midst of an exchange that looks almost sexual without context. “Yeah, go ahead.”

Minho opens the door and walks in, and Thomas’s heart does a weird little dance in his chest, like it’s suddenly decided to practice the cha-cha. Minho closes the door behind him and takes up a position at the foot of Thomas’s bed, arms folded. “Look, I’m sorry. What I said was completely inappropriate, and I feel like an ass for saying it. So I’ve come to your forgiveness.”

“It’s fine,” says Thomas sullenly, moving the computer from his lap to the bed next to his legs. “I mean . . . you don’t really have to apologise. Newt was going to find out anyway,” he adds, hoping Newt doesn’t really know, “and it actually really should be _me_ apologising . . . for kissing my room mate’s boyfriend when I had no right to.”

Minho exhales slowly and looks around at the movie posters lining the walls. “That’s the thing, man . . . I really ought to mind, but I . . . I don’t. There’s got to be something wrong with me, I mean, I love Newt. I _only_ love Newt. I shouldn’t have any . . . _feelings_ . . . for you.”

There’s an extended period of taciturn awkwardness. Thomas can feel his face heating up and hopes desperately his cheeks aren’t as red as they certainly must be. To avoid looking at Minho, especially in light of Minho’s confession, Thomas returns his attention to the screen of his computer and glares at Legolas and Gimli.

Minho clears his throat. “So, uh. What’re you watching?”

“Lord of the Rings,” says Thomas in spite of himself, because for once he’s genuinely curious and wants to gauge Minho’s reaction, especially considering his previously stated opinion of LotR. But Minho doesn’t say anything about how obvious the CGI is or how amateur the acting is; instead he sits down facing Thomas, and spikes up his hair with one hand in a way that Thomas would interpret as self-conscious were the action done by anyone other than Minho.

“Look,” says Minho, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, “I really am sorry. You were drunk, and weren’t thinking clearly, and I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you like that.”

Thomas laughs a little, despite his previous resolutions. “You make it sound like you raped me or something. And pardon me, but I think I would remember something like that if it happened.”

Minho tilts his head to the side, that odd habit of his when he’s thinking. “Maybe it _did_ happen and you _can’t_ remember. Maybe I’m really a rapist who operates through Newt and you were my latest victim.”

Thomas swallows hard, suddenly aware that he and Minho are alone together in his room with a closed door. “I’d have to be more drunk than I was to forget that,” he manages to say. “Maybe not even then.”

“In a good way or a bad way?” asks Minho, but he isn’t joking any more. His tone is deeply serious, and everything that Thomas so resolutely decided with Teresa and Brenda has vanished. All that Thomas can think of is Minho, and the word proximity, which he suddenly appreciates more than he’s ever appreciated it before.

“I guess in a good way,” he gets out, before Minho surges forward and then they’re kissing again, Minho half on top of Thomas due to the awkward positioning, his hands cupping Thomas’s face, and Thomas knows it’s wrong, he shouldn’t be doing this, but he can’t help himself. Minho pulls back for a moment so that Thomas can move himself to a more comfortable position, then there’s more kissing, and Thomas can’t keep his hands to himself, even though all the while he’s kissing Minho and thinking of—

There’s a loud and sudden crash and they both jump back, but it’s only the computer falling off Thomas’s bed and onto the floor. The noise is followed footsteps, however, and then a knock on the door and Newt’s voice saying, “Minho? Tommy? Is everything okay?”

Minho doesn’t let his voice betray a single thing, keeping his tone impressively even. “It’s fine, babe. Thomas dropped his computer, that’s all. No one’s hurt.”

“Okay, good,” says Newt, sounding relieved, and Thomas doesn’t know what to do, because all he can focus on is Minho, and he can’t think of anything, even though he knows he shouldn’t be thinking at all.


	8. Chapter 8

But no, thinking is what he does want to do, because Thomas can’t do this. He pulls away from Minho, tucking his knees up to his chest and pressing his back against the head of his bed. “Minho,” he protests. “I don’t . . . I can’t lie to Newt.”

“Neither can I,” says Minho coolly. “I already told him you kissed me, dork. He understood—you were drunk and couldn’t be responsible for your actions. So it isn’t that big of a deal. I just thought . . . never mind.”

Thomas winces; surely Minho didn’t mean to sound so dismissive—or maybe he did, to put Thomas off and to say _no_ , he isn’t interested, and kissing Thomas was a mistake. But then why did he just kiss Thomas? The entire thing is so confusing.

“Minho?” It’s Newt again, knocking on the door. “Is Tommy okay in there?”

“I’m fine,” says Thomas loudly and untruthfully.

“Can I come in?”

“No!” says Thomas, perhaps too quickly. “No, I mean—I’m coming out there, so not ‘no you can’t come in because I don’t want you to come in,’ but ‘no because I’m going to come out there where you are’—ah, never mind, forget I said anything.” He starts to get up, and Minho doesn’t move to stop him. Thomas is somewhat disappointed—it would be interestingly romantic—but mostly relieved.

Newt is standing outside of Thomas’s room, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, smirking at them both. Minho follows behind Thomas and kisses Newt on the cheek, glancing back over at Thomas so quickly that Newt doesn’t see, a look on his face that almost seems to say ‘see, I don’t like _you_ , I have a boyfriend already, and he’s so much better than you.’ Thomas glares at Minho, but unfortunately Newt sees his look and (why is the universe so unfair?) frowns at Thomas disapprovingly. “Tommy—”

“Please don’t,” says Thomas. He knows it must sound desperate, but he doesn’t have the strength to care about that. Not now. “Please just don’t.”

Newt raises his eyebrows slightly, but he nods. “All right, Tommy, I’ll leave you alone. Are you planning on having anything to eat tonight? We ordered takeout from the Chinese place you like, and there’s still some left if you’re hungry—I don’t know what Teresa gave you.”

“’M fine,” mumbles Thomas despondently. “I just wanted to—to be alone for a while.”

Minho scoffs, and Newt gives him a glare. “Don’t be such a bloody insensitive prat, Min. Tommy, I’m sorry for bothering you. If you want to go back to your room, you can; Minho and I won’t interrupt you if that’s what you want.”

“No, I’m fine with staying out here,” Thomas says, trying not to think about what Minho and Newt would do while he’s supposedly alone in his room and they’re supposedly alone with the rest of the house at their disposal. “Can we like—watch a movie or something?”

“I don’t mind,” says Newt. “Min, what about you?”

Minho doesn’t take his eyes off Thomas. “I don’t mind either. How about we watch _Lord of the Rings_ , since I know you two love it so much?”

It occurs to Thomas why eye contact is called eye _contact_. He can feel the pressure of Minho’s gaze boring into him, and wishes simultaneously that Minho would stop and that Minho would never stop.

“It isn’t _one_ movie, only,” Thomas says; he knows it’s a petty thing to say, but he can’t help but argue. “There are lots. Which one do you want to see? Also, there’s _The Hobbit_ , or, as it’s called in certain circles”—he realises how exclusive he sounds, but doesn’t seem able to stop—“ _There and Back Again._ ”

Newt snorts and pokes Minho playfully on the arm. “He’s got you there, love.”

Thomas regrets ever bringing it up.

 

***

 

They end up watching _The Hobbit_ (or, as it’s called in certain circles, _There and Back Again_ ) on the couch, Thomas on the end, with Newt next to him and Minho on the other end. Newt doesn’t fall asleep on Thomas this time, but after a while he leans into Minho and closes his eyes, and Thomas knows he should be glad about that, because it eliminates one of his problems if Newt isn’t interested in the slightest, but he’s anything but _glad_.

Minho doesn’t look at Thomas at all, and Thomas doesn’t look at—well, he tries not to, but he finds himself sneaking glances while Bilbo tricks orcs and the elves show off their prowess in every aspect. It bothers him more than he’d like to admit, because he can’t look at Minho without thinking about kissing him.

“The thing is,” Minho says quietly, after a half hour in silence once Newt’s gone to sleep, “I still love this guy”—he brushes Newt’s hair off his forehead in a gentle kind of gesture—“and I don’t know how it’s going to work, because I really know I shouldn’t, but I like you too.”

Thomas doesn’t know how to respond, but he manages. “I love Newt, too,” he blurts out. “I mean, he’s been my friend for for _ever_ , and I like being friends and all, but I—yeah, well. I guess you know what it’s like to love Newt though,” he adds, because if anyone would know that it would be Minho.

Minho laughs, deep in his throat, and doesn’t look at Thomas. “That complicates things somewhat. I could get falling for me—why not, honestly, when I look like this?—but this guy here isn’t really everyone’s ideal. Not that he _isn’t_ mine, of course,” Minho says quickly. “Or if he wasn’t, he is now.”

“Yeah,” says Thomas, swallowing his jealousy and regret. “I get it.”

Minho laughs slightly louder, but still mostly to himself, and changes the subject swiftly and effortlessly. “We always end up sitting on the couch and talking about Newt while watching _Lord of the Rings_ —well, this is _The Hobbit_ , but same difference, really.”

Thomas tries not to let his irritation at those words show on his face or in his voice when he speaks. “You’re lucky I’m kind and forgiving, because a lot of LotR fans would _not_ think that _Hobbit_ and _Rings_ are ‘same difference.’”

“You are such a nerd,” says Minho, but he doesn’t say it like it’s a bad thing. “So now the actual elephant in the room, the actual thing we aren’t talking about—what are we _actually_ going to do?”

“I heard something about an elephant?” says Newt’s voice sleepily as he struggles to sit up and take in what’s happening. “Min, what’s going on? I must’ve nodded off or something—bloody _hell_ , I feel like shit.”

“We were talking about the movie, is all,” Minho lies easily, leaving Thomas wondering what else Minho has said that he’s believed that’s turned out to not be true. “Thomas here was trying to explain the animals and stuff used in the movies. I mean, orcs? Weird? No shit, Sherlock.” He sounds amused.

“Right,” Newt grumbles. “I’m going to the bathroom. I’ll be back in a moment. Continue watching if you want and arguing about orcs.” He gets up and shuffles out of the room, yawning.

Minho turns his head slightly to look at Thomas, _finally_ , and nods once. “Anyway, before he comes back—I can’t really lie to him”—but you just did, Thomas wants to say—“but I do like you, dude, and I want this to work. So I will tell him. Soon. I just don’t know when—but I will let you know, and all that shit, so we can try to fix all the problems. I don’t know how it’s going to work, but I’ll make it work.”

“Okay,” Thomas says shortly, feeling his heart beat wildly in his chest. Minho said he liked Thomas. Minho said he wanted to be in a relationship. Minho said he would work things out. Thomas isn’t sure whether to freak out from nervousness or happiness.

Newt comes back, looking characteristically grumpy. “Move over,” he says snippily, pushing Thomas’s knees with his foot, then sitting down in between them and collapsing onto Minho’s shoulder again.

“Ah, Newt, always a pleasure to have you with us,” Minho murmurs. Thomas doesn’t try to notice that Minho said ‘us’ instead of ‘me,’ but he notices anyway. “Your pleasant temperance and gentle countenance are always a joy to behold.”

“Fuck you,” Newt growls, burying his face in Minho’s shirt.

“If you wish, you may, but not when Thomas is around,” Minho says in a low voice. Thomas pretends not to hear.

The movie finishes (and as usual, Thomas is satisfied with the story, even if his own life isn’t so easy, because the book always _ends_ and even if the ending is sad it still _happens_ ) and Minho decides to go home to his own apartment (about half an hour away, he tells Thomas, so it’s a real issue to have to keep making the trip to see Newt) instead of staying for the night (which is most likely smart, given the mood Newt is in, Thomas thinks wryly) like he did last time.

“You know,” says Minho to Thomas while they’re both standing in the hallway, and Minho’s getting his keys from the little table that Newt hates because it scratches up his precious wood floor, “I really will figure something out, I promise.”

“Yeah,” says Thomas intelligently. “I’ll tell you if I come up with something. And maybe I’ll talk to Newt.”

“Maybe,” Minho echoes. Then he pulls Thomas close and kisses him, on the forehead, and then he’s gone, and Thomas is standing in the dark hallway watching the lights of Minho’s fancy sports car fade into the distance, and wondering why he doesn’t feel like shit for the first time in a long while.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So one of my friends asked me why Newt says ‘bathroom’ instead of ‘loo’ or something more English (which I hadn’t even thought of, so thanks Chloe) and the answer I came up with was because Newt HAS lived in the US for a while, and although he retains some of his Englishness (such as saying ‘bloody’ and cussing the English way most of the time), he’s still been influenced by Minho and especially Thomas. So while he is definitely English and still has the residual accent, he speaks more like an American than an English boy would.
> 
> x Mochi


	9. Chapter 9

Minho doesn’t come visit Newt or Thomas for two weeks, leaving Thomas wondering if he said or did something, and wandering around lost and confused, while Newt calls it Teresa withdrawal and Thomas doesn’t bother to correct him. Newt and Minho talk on the phone every night, Thomas knows, because Newt has stopped watching their weekly episodes of _Doctor Who_ in favour of that phone call. He isn’t really upset, just sad that Minho hasn’t called _him_ as well.

After about a week and a half, Thomas decides he has to start talking to Newt again, because he’s been ignoring him in hopes that Newt will get the idea that Thomas isn’t as stupid as he is. But unfortunately Newt is perceptive and smart, and Thomas decides the only way to make this work like Minho promised would be to talk to Newt. Not to necessarily tell him everything, but at least something. So that he isn’t in the dark any more, not completely. Thomas will be firm and responsible and lay it all out on the table so Newt knows how he felt (feels, will feel, Thomas doesn’t want to get into that kind of stuff yet) and have a chance to reciprocate. Thomas will be cool and calm and collected, and won’t mess up.

It doesn’t go exactly like that.

When Thomas walks purposefully into the kitchen where Newt is attempting to make waffles on the ancient and questionably reliable stovetop, Thomas opens his mouth to launch into the tangent he’s memorised already, but Newt cuts him off sharply. “Tommy, I know you want to talk to me. It it’s about kissing my boyfriend—” Thomas notices with a wince the emphasis placed on _my_ —“then don’t even bother. We talked about it already.”

“We? As in, you and Minho?” says Thomas. His face feels hot and he knows he must be blushing, the knowledge of which doesn’t help him _not_ blush.”I know. I mean, he told me. I mean—oh shit, Newt, when did things get so freaking messed up between us?” Thomas knows how pathetic he must sound, but something’s definitely changed between him and Newt.

Newt doesn’t turn around, or move, and judging by the sizzling smell of the stove the waffles have suffered for it. “Tommy . . . I know. Do you get how many times I’ve wished none of this had happened? I want to blame it on you, for being an arse and getting yourself drunk and kissing _my_ boyfriend and not even having the decency to bloody _tell_ me about it—but I can’t.”

The air suddenly seems supercharged, like the electricity in the buzzing light above their heads has spiralled down into every inch of the kitchen. Thomas wants to say something witty or meaningful, but his mind is nothing but empty space. Newt appears oblivious to the waffles still burning in front of him. “I know, more than you’ll understand. And I mean it every bloody time I tell you I love Minho. But you’re my best friend, Tommy. I don’t want to lose that because of something stupid you both did. I don’t want to lose both of you.”

Thomas can’t help feeling a bit put off at that remark—so now he’s the result of a mistake, a stupid thing he and Minho did? “Did Minho talk to you about—anything else?”

“Yes,” Newt says quietly, so quietly his voice breaks. Thomas wants to hold him and say it’ll all be okay, but he knows better than to lie to Newt. To his best friend. His room mate. The person he’s irrevocably hurt.

He swallows hard. “What did he say?”

Newt suddenly whirls around. “Goddammit, Tommy!” he says, every word full of pain. “He told me he loved me, all right? What do you want to hear—that he broke up with me to go be with you? Are you really that fucking selfish of a dickhead that you’d do something that shitty to me?”

Newt rarely curses. So it shocks Thomas when he does. “Of course not,” he says quickly. “But he said something to me, last time he was here . . . I don’t know . . . I . . .”

“I can’t hate you,” Newt says, and there are tears in his eyes. “I can’t hate you, and I don’t want to love you.”

Something in Thomas’s heart leaps, then just as quickly plunges back down. What could be worse than your best friend rejecting you? Then he realises what he’s thinking, and it kills the mood even more thoroughly. Of course Newt knows. How he must have felt those past few weeks . . .

“Newt,” Thomas says evenly, staring at a spot on the wall to avoid looking at his friend, “I never wanted this either. I wanted to hate Minho, and I wanted not to love you. So I know, and I’m sorry.”

Newt buries his face in his hands, and the spatula he’s been using for the waffles falls onto the floor with a disjointed clatter. “This is such bullshit,” he mumbles into his fingers, his voice muffled. “My life is such a bloody mess, Tommy.”

Now Thomas walks over and gently prises Newt’s fingers away from his eyes. “Hey,” he says. “Hey.”

Newt looks up, tears still in his eyes. They don’t shine like in books, though, they make him look accurately like he’s been crying. His eyes are red and watery. “Hey.”

“I know this is confusing,” Thomas begins, unsure of his purpose but hoping his stupidity will see him through—after all, that’s what he’ll blame later, “and don’t think it’s any less confusing for me. Newt . . . I won’t say I know what you’re going through. But I love Minho.” And now he’s said it, stupidity incarnate, and there’s no taking the words back. “And I love you.”

Newt raises his head, eyes suddenly shining, although Thomas can’t tell if the tears are the culprit or not, and Thomas has a brief moment to imagine a fantasy movie-like sort of kiss and reconciliation before Newt slaps him across the face.

Thomas rubs his stinging cheek with his knuckles. “Ouch,” he mumbles.

Fury blazes in Newt’s eyes now. “You think you can just say that to me, _Thomas_?” Even in his confused and pain-induced state, Thomas recognises the renewed use of his full name and it hurts more than the slap did. “You think it’s okay to say you _love_ me and it’ll all turn out fine, because you and Minho have some sort of bloody _plan_?” His voice vibrates with anger. “I changed my mind. I do hate you. I hate you for being here and screwing up my life.”

“Newt,” Thomas gasps, but Newt isn’t finished.

“No. Stop talking. All this time you got to talk, but not now. You can’t just plead love like this is some bloody court case. You have to have a good reason! Love isn’t a part in this! This is friendship. You’re my best friend. You always have been. And it hurt so much,” and his voice drops to a barely audible whisper, “when you kissed Minho and didn’t tell me. _He_ told me. Over dinner one night, like it was no big deal. That’s how Minho is, I thought. He doesn’t think anything is a big deal. But then you . . .”

“Newt, I’m sorry,” manages Thomas, wishing he’d never gotten the idea to try to explain in the first place, “I wanted to tell you, honestly, but I was worried you’d kill me or something. I thought it would be a stupid one-time thing.”

Newt glares; it’s surprisingly fierce for him, given that he’s several inches shorter and much lighter than Thomas is. “Well, you were bloody right then. It _was_ stupid. But if it isn’t going to be a one-time thing, then . . . then we need to figure out how it’s going to work.”

“Are you going to break up with Minho?” asks Thomas, suddenly alarmed.

Newt laughs weakly. “No, dickhead. I’m not planning on breaking up with anybody.”

“Then what are you—?”

“Tommy, listen to me,” Newt says, and Thomas almost melts when he hears his nickname again. “I loved Minho more than I’ve ever loved anyone. He was always there for me, always caring and understanding and kind and wonderful. He was perfect for me.”

“Oh,” says Thomas, wondering if Newt’s trying to break it to him lightly.

“But then,” Newt says, “then there was this whole _thing_ with you two, and I had no bloody idea what to think. Because you’ve been my friend since highschool, and I don’t want that ever to stop, no matter who it happens to be that I’m dating.”

“Okay,” is all Thomas can come up with, because he honestly has no idea where this is going any more.

Newt hesitates; Thomas can see the indecision in his eyes. “I love you both,” he says finally. “I love Minho and I love you too, Tommy. And I hate how much we’ve been saying _love_ , but it’s true. And I don’t know how exactly this is going to work, but I’ll make it work.”

 _Minho’s words_. Thomas blinks in confusion. “What do you have in mind?”

“I don’t know,” Newt admits. “I would have to talk to Minho. Right now I know he’s super busy. So it might take some time.”

Thomas nods and then, before he can say anything, Newt puts his arms around Thomas and hugs him, the kind of hug that’s given to a best friend. They haven’t even so much as touched in the past few weeks, and for Thomas it’s almost like a kind of therapy, pretending all his problems are melting away, imagining that Newt is all that exists.

Then a harsh noise shatters the moment, incessant and repetitive beeps, and Newt jumps back and spins towards the stove, crying “Christ, it’s the waffles,” and Thomas grabs a towel to try to waft the smoke away, and Newt shoves the pan into the sink, causing a furious hissing noise, and then the alarm stops and they both collapse on the floor. Newt looks over at Thomas and grins, the same grin Thomas has known forever. “Guess I forgot I was making breakfast,” he says, and laughs.


	10. Chapter 10

At the end of the week Newt asks Thomas whether he thinks it would be a good idea to have Minho come over again so that they can “talk.” He doesn’t exactly put quotation marks around the word, but Thomas knows it’s implied.

“Yeah, sure,” he says, without looking up from his book, _The Two Towers_. “Why not.” It’s a stupid rhetorical question, but Thomas is good with the stupidly rhetorical.

Newt doesn’t see it that way. “I didn’t know if you would be ready for that or not.”

Thomas almost laughs at that remark. “You make it sound like it’s something life-changing, Newt. It’s just relationship drama. I’m sure it happens to people all the time, all over the place.”

“Yeah,” Newt admits, drawing his eyebrows together so that they form a line, “but isn’t this _our_ relationship drama? That makes it bloody special, Tommy, and don’t you forget it.” He claps Thomas on the shoulder and leaves the room to call Minho with a somewhat satisfied smirk on his face of which Thomas doesn’t know the meaning and doesn’t really want to have to figure out at the present moment.

 

***

 

Minho, apparently, tells Newt that he would be delighted to come over, as long as they watch one of the _Lord of the Rings_ movies on the couch. Thomas gets the vague idea that Minho is mocking him, but he doesn’t say anything.

“I thought this was just going to be a conversation,” Thomas groans. He’s currently hanging over the side of the couch, trying to finish _The Three Towers_ , while Newt tries to get him to get up and do something helpful. “I never knew this involved making me clean the house.”

“You don’t have to, just get off the bloody couch so I can—” Newt stops mid-sentence. “You know what, Tommy? Fine. You win. Minho will be here in about half an hour. I don’t care.”

“I thought you liked me,” Thomas moans.

“Right,” Newt says dryly. “Now get over it.”

Thomas sighs indifferently and rolls his eyes at Newt, which proves to be quite a difficult thing to accomplish when hanging upside down over the back of the couch and trying to read.

“And act your age, at least,” Newt snaps. “Not like you’re still in bloody primary school.”

 

***

 

Thomas does get up, if only to go to his room and attempt to finish reading, although he ends up staring at the page and rereading the same lines over and over. He tells himself to calm down. What does he expect? Minho isn’t going to attack him. Hopefully. Thomas bites his lip thoughtfully. He wouldn’t put it past Minho to do something like that.

The bell rings what seems like not enough time later, and Newt yells something which includes Thomas’s name and also several other words that Thomas can’t quite distinguish from his placement in the house.

“I can’t hear you, Newt,” Thomas yells back, and Newt repeats himself, an obvious note of frustration in his words, but Thomas still can’t understand what those words are. He steels himself and makes his way towards the kitchen.

Minho is standing there, and Newt is sitting in his usual chair, and Minho’s hands are on Newt’s shoulders in what Thomas thinks is a very possessive this-is-my-boyfriend-not-yours kind of manner. When he sees Thomas he raises his eyebrows and mouths “you look good” over Newt’s head, causing Thomas to blush and Newt to reach up and smack Minho on the chest.

“Stop making Tommy uncomfortable, Minho,” Newt says loyally.

“C’mon babe, how do you know I did anything?” complains Minho, although he winks at Thomas, which does absolutely nothing to help Thomas stop blushing, and he wants to return to his room and read _right now, someone do something._

“Because you’re you, and I’m not an idiot,” replies Newt.

Minho leans down to kiss the top of Newt’s head. “And what does that make Thomas?”

 _That makes Thomas jealous_ , Thomas wants to say, but he knows better. Instead of saying anything in response to either of them, he sits down in _his_ usual chair, looking pointedly at Minho. “So why’ve we gathered here today?” he says, with a brave attempt at light-heartedness that even Newt winces at.

“I’m going to be blunt,” Newt says. “Min, don’t say anything to interrupt me.” He takes a breath and looks at them both, one after the other. “Minho, I love you. And I don’t want you to think I don’t love you after this conversation, okay?”

“Okay,” Minho says, but Newt cuts him off.

“I said don’t interrupt me. Minho, I know you kissed Tommy—”

“ _He_ kissed _me_!” exclaims Minho, then claps a hand over his mouth. “Sorry. No interrupting. Go on, babe.”

Newt glares at Minho. “Tommy kissed you, then. It doesn’t bloody matter. Anyway, you two kissed, and Minho told me. He didn’t say how he felt about it, although how you felt was real bloody obvious, Tommy.”

Thomas blushes again. Was he really that obvious? He looks down at the linoleum and tries not to think about either of them.

“At first I was mad,” Newt continues. “But I got over it. Tommy was drunk, and Minho just wanted to get him home. But then when I saw Tommy was clearly _not_ over anything at all, I started to get mad. He’s been my best friend for years, Minho. And _he’s_ been my boyfriend for a while, even before you found out, Tommy.” Thomas remembers the scene in the hallway—it seems like so long ago now—and half-smiles, half-frowns.

“I don’t want to lose you, Minho,” Newt goes on, “and I don’t want to lose you either, Tommy. And I know how you feel about each other. It’s going to be messy and weird at first, but I’m not—” his voice breaks and he looks down at his hands, clasped in front of him on the table. “But I’m not un-okay with it.”

Minho breaks the silence, because he’s the kind of person who breaks things. “What does _un-okay_ mean?”

“Fine, I’m okay with it.”

Thomas blinks. “Newt . . . what exactly are you trying to say?”

Newt’s blushes slightly and raises his gaze to the ceiling. “I mean . . . I meant if it’s okay with you lot, we could do a bloody threesome, got it?” He doesn’t look quite as eager to talk any more, and his cheeks are flushed, making his freckles extremely obvious.

Silence.

Thomas doesn’t think he’d ever imagined those words coming out of Newt’s mouth, yet here they are, for them both to contemplate. Once again, Minho is the one who speaks, and there’s something off about his voice, although it might be Thomas’s hearing that’s messed up instead.

“I could understand why you don’t want to lose me, what with all this,” and Minho gestures to himself jokingly, “but a threesome? Newt, honestly, I never expected this from you.”

Thomas feels exactly the same way.

“It’s all I could think of,” Newt says miserably. “I don’t know of anyone who’s done anything like that before. But I don’t know, I don’t bloody know. If you have a better idea, then I would be absolutely delighted to hear it.”

Minho doesn’t say anything for a moment, and Thomas takes that as his cue to actually start taking part in the conversation which is supposed to also include him. “I would be fine with that,” he says, his heart thumping wildly, because wouldn’t it be the perfect solution to his own problem of liking them both? “That way we get the best of both worlds, so to speak.”

“Sharing?” says Minho finally, his voice hollow. “I’m not good with sharing.”

“Think of it how you don’t have to share either of us,” says Thomas, wincing at how fake-cheerful his voice sounds. He still can’t believe the conversation is actually real and not a figment of his overactive imagination—although, he doubts he would be able to come up with something like this, and anyway he wouldn’t throw in all the problems if he really dreamed about this.

Minho shakes his head microscopically from side to side. “I think—I just need some time to think about it,” he says, his voice tight and strained, then practically runs to the door. Thomas hears the thud as it shuts behind him.

Newt sighs. “I had a feeling he was going to take it like this. Tommy, I’m sorry. I didn’t—oh, never mind.” He runs his hands through his hair and drops his head to the table. “I was trying to make it better, but it only got worse.”

Thomas leans across the table and puts his hands on Newt’s shoulders, because it seems like the best-friend-and-possible-boyfriend kind of nice thing to do when your other best-friend-and-possible-boyfriend is having a partial breakdown. “If it helps, I kinda like your idea.”

Newt looks up then, and Thomas can tell he’s blushing _again_ , which makes Newt smile, so maybe it’s worth something after all. “Of course. You know how many people would be dying to get in the middle of me and Minho?”

Thomas laughs, but then something makes him wonder: How _is_ it going to work? Not just mentally, although that’s a big part of the problem, but physically? Can three people have sex at once? Just the thought makes him turn even redder and he hopes Newt hasn’t suddenly acquired the ability to read minds.

Newt grins and leans forward unexpectedly, pressing his lips against Thomas’s cheek. “I’m glad at least _you’re_ excited, Tommy.”

“Well, duh,” says Thomas, buzzing with nervousness and confusion and excitement all at once. “Like you said, right?”

It turns out that’s all it takes for Newt to kiss him properly, and although it’s a bit awkward, but all the hey-you’re-my-best-friend-and-I’m-kissing-you kind of thoughts aside, Thomas thinks it’s one of the best kisses he’s had in a long time.

Newt pulls back first, predictably. “Now we have to find Minho, and I’ll have to talk to him.” He sighs and stands up. “Let’s go, Tommy.”


	11. Chapter 11

 

They take Newt’s car, and Newt drives, although Thomas offers because he knows Newt doesn’t like to drive. Newt says he knows where Minho would go, and so Thomas is left sitting in the shotgun seat, wondering why Minho decided to run off. Was he afraid? Did he not like Newt’s idea? Thomas slumps against the window, watching the trees fly past, thinking.

Newt stops in front of a brick building with multiple windows. “It’s one of the dorms,” he explained, as they get out of the car. “That one up there”—he points to a window—“is where Ben and Gally live.”

“Ben and Gally?” says Thomas, dismayed. “Ben and Gally? You think Minho went to Ben and Gally?”

“I don’t think so, I know so,” Newt replies patiently, gesturing to where Minho’s car was parked in front of the stairs. “What’s your problem with Ben and Gally, anyway?”

“I don’t like Ben and Gally,” Thomas says, “and Ben and Gally don’t like me either. You know that, Newt! When have I ever said anything nice about Ben and Gally?”

Newt throws his hands in the air exasperatedly. “Will you stop bloody saying ‘Ben and Gally’? They aren’t going to kill you, Tommy.” Shaking his head in bewilderment, he leads the way to the door of Ben’s and Gally’s apartment/dormitory.

Ben answers after the first knock. “Hey, Newt! I would ask what brings you over here for this unexpected pleasure, but I think I know the answer.” He opens the door to let them in. “I won’t pry into you guys’ business, but I hope it works out for you in the end.”

“Thanks,” Thomas says, following Newt into the hall. The carpet and walls are both a faint shade of off-white, cream, or beige (Thomas doesn’t know the difference and it looks similar to him), and there are several pictures on the walls of Ben, Gally, and their friends. The hall opens into a small living room, with only a half-wall separating in from the kitchen. There’s a small couch, made of black leather, facing the television. The kitchen is smaller than the one at Newt’s and Thomas’s apartment, and there’s a box of pizza on the counter.

Minho is sitting on the couch and eating a slice of pizza. There’s a certain resignation about him that makes Thomas uncomfortable. He hasn’t seen Minho shaken like this in a long time. When they walk into the room, Minho doesn’t even look up. “Why’d you follow me?” he asks, sounding bitter.

Newt goes over to Minho and places a hand on his shoulder; Minho flinches. “Min, we’re worried about you. It’s fine if you don’t want to talk right now, but please don’t run off like that.”

“Worried about me,” Minho scoffs, but his face clears a little. Thomas suddenly feels like an eavesdropper and stands awkwardly in the corner, watching Ben walk around the kitchen and put away the dishes, which have been sitting on the counter to dry.

Gally walks into the room then, scowling, and Thomas shrinks back against the wall. Gally hasn’t ever done anything to Thomas personally, but he’s still scary, and doesn’t seem happy most of the time. He reminds Thomas of Thorin Oakenshield, gruff and firm, with a (possible) gentle side that rarely gets shown. “Ben, I didn’t know we had more guests.”

“You didn’t hear the doorbell? Dork.” Ben stops putting away dishes and comes into the living room, which constitutes of walking around the counter. “Do you want us to leave, Minho?”

Minho shakes his head almost imperceptibly.

Newt sits down on the couch next to him and says something so quietly Thomas can’t hear. He feels vaguely like he’s being excluded, intentionally or unintentionally, and to avoid looking like he has no purpose being here (which he’s seriously starting to doubt) he makes his way over to Ben, who’s watching Minho and Newt talk with an amused look on his face.

“Why d’you think he came to you?” asks Thomas, because he’s genuinely curious, and he also knows Ben won’t judge, and most likely will tell him the truth (which is something he can’t count on from Minho or Newt) of the entire matter. Thomas is somewhat hoping he’ll get to know the truth sometime soon.

Ben sighs and raises his eyebrows to the ceiling. “Minho’s come over here a lot, when he’s had some fight with Newt, or had trouble with one of his classes, or something like that. The guy’s got a lot of shit to work through, you know? I don’t think he’s really got anyone else to go to. I didn’t know him that well when we started college, but we were never unfriendly, and one day after he had a big fight with Newt—I honestly think it was about you—we showed up here looking for a place to stay for a while.”

“About me?” says Thomas like the selfish asshole he knows he is, but Ben has already moved on to another topic.

“Gally welcomed him first—I wasn’t even here—so I know most people think he’s not that nice, but he’s really kind when you get to know him. Just don’t tell him I said that,” Ben adds, winking at Thomas, “because he’ll kick my ass if he knows I’m telling people his secrets.”

“Don’t worry,” Thomas says, feeling like an outsider again, “I won’t.”

Ben sighs and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Do you want pizza or something?” he asks. “The last few times this has gone on for quite a while.”

Thomas does actually want pizza, but something about the familiar way Ben speaks of Minho and Newt makes him uncomfortable. It implies that Minho and Newt have been together for a long time, that Thomas is the newcomer, that they would have every right to tell Thomas that they don’t want to do anything with him.

After another fifteen minutes (Thomas is watching the digital clock on the oven) Newt looks up from talking with Minho and speaks to Ben. “Can we borrow Tommy for a moment, Ben? And if you don’t mind, could you leave us for a little while?”

“I don’t mind,” Ben says amiably. “Gally and I have an episode of _Doctor Who_ we have to finish watching, anyway.” He winks at Thomas and he and Gally leave, and Thomas focuses on the fact that obviously Ben and Gally are nerds just like he is, because he doesn’t want to focus on Newt and Minho, although he knows he’ll have to eventually. In all honesty, Thomas decides, he’s scared.

It’s Minho who speaks first. “All right, I’ve decided I’ll go along with Newt’s idea,” he says, and he sounds better now, more like his old self, “but I have some rules. First, Thomas can’t get upset or jealous if I hang out with Newt more. We have been together for longer, after all.”

“And Minho can’t get upset or jealous if Newt and I hang out more either,” Thomas shoots back. “We have been friends for longer, after all.”

Minho laughs and Thomas is relieved. “Touché there. Second, I don’t have to go out on dates or whatever else we would do with _both_ of you if I don’t want to. If I want to spend an evening with just Newt—”

“Or just Thomas,” Thomas points out mulishly.

“—then I can do that. Same goes for you two. Third, I haven’t really, uh, thought about sex. I mean,” Minho suddenly blushes and looks down at the cream/beige carpet, “of course I’ve _thought_ about sex, but I don’t really know how that works . . . so I guess we’ll figure that one out when we get to it.”

Thomas is immensely relieved that he wasn’t the only one worrying about that. He sits down on the carpet, of which he still can’t decide the colour, and listens, watching Newt, who looks far more comfortable than Thomas is.

“And, fourth,” Minho goes on, “I don’t want this just to be for sexual, um, stuff. I don’t know Thomas’s motives—” and here he looks stern, “—but I know that my relationship with Newt meant something, and I don’t want that to change.”

“Agreed,” says Newt, taking Minho’s hand.

“I know this isn’t really super romantic,” Minho says hastily, “but I think we can all agree we needed to talk about it too, right?” At their nods, he keeps going. “So that’s my part, and you can say yours. I’m curious to hear your opinions on this threesome thing.”

Newt smiles at Minho before starting to speak. “I think you got it pretty completely, Min. I would add, though, that I don’t like the word ‘threesome.’ It kind of makes me think that it’s _only_ for sex and stuff, and I also want this to be more. I mean, the only other thing I can think of would be ‘polyamourous relationship,’ and that sounds too medial school-y, so I don’t know. But if we could just say we’re boyfriends or whatever, I would prefer that.”

“I’m okay with that,” Thomas says, perhaps a bit too quickly. He still can’t believe that any of this is really happening.

“Well, good, because you’re the one who held the defining role in all of this discussion,” says Minho dryly. It takes Thomas a moment to realise he’s joking, and then he laughs, sounding slightly strained and forced, but really, who could blame him?

Minho and Newt both get off the couch, still holing hands. Newt reaches out his other hand to Thomas, who takes it hesitantly. With a slight sigh, Minho grabs his other hand, and Thomas knows he’s blushing, but this time no one says anything, and Thomas doesn’t mind as much.

“So, um,” says Thomas awkwardly, trying to think of what he should say in a situation like this one, because nothing in his life has helped to prepare him for something like this, “should we, like, kiss or something?”

Both Newt and Minho laugh, which makes Thomas simultaneously feel better and worse. “Oh, Tommy,” says Newt, sighing, “how do you think we would accomplish that?”

Thomas laughs too, from sheer nervousness. “Okay, I’m an idiot, I get it.”

“No,” Minho says, still laughing. He kisses Thomas, then Newt, quickly. “Happy?”

Thomas can’t lie and say he isn’t, so instead he nods. He looks at Minho, then Newt. “I have to say, when we were friends all those years,” he muses, “I never thought this was where we would end up.”

“I didn’t fancy confessing my feelings in Ben’s and Gally’s shithole apartment, either,” Newt says wryly, and Thomas can’t help it, he laughs.

“We should tell them we can leave now,” Minho says.

“Are they a couple? Ben and Gally?” asks Thomas suddenly. He isn’t sure, but little things would make him think so, the way they look at each other, or refer to each other, or the fact that they’re in their bedroom watching _Doctor Who_.

Minho shakes his head. “No, shockingly enough. I’ve tried to beat it into their thick heads that they should be, but they don’t listen to me. Too scared to ruin the friendship, I guess.” He shrugs thoughtfully.

“Glad that didn’t happen to us,” Thomas mumbles.

“Yeah,” Newt agrees. “I guess we’re pretty lucky, huh?”

Thomas can’t disagree with that either.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry this chapter is so long, I had to wrap up the entire thing and it ended up taking more time than I had anticipated. But all’s well that ends, as this story has (although I do have a vague idea of a second story set in this universe, so I might write that if anyone wants it) and now it’s time to celebrate: they got together, yay, the end.
> 
> A couple of important notes to remember: Teresa in this story is Thomas’s sister, of course, and I also portrayed her as a nicer character. I know some of those in the fandom don’t like her, and in the books I certainly agree that she makes a lot of mistakes, but I don’t HATE her, and so I wanted to make her be alive and sisterly in this story. I hope I accomplished that.
> 
> Second, I tried to keep everyone IC as much as possible. I was trying to make them seem realistic as well, however, having to deal with the idea of a relationship with three people, which they hadn’t done before. I will still be editing if any of you think that something’s a bit off, feel free to tell me (either here or on tumblr: saraven2.tumblr.com).
> 
> Third, and last, thank you to everyone who commented with praise or ideas or thoughts or help or anything else. Your support means more than I can possibly say.
> 
> x Mochi

The drive back to the Minho’s house, then their apartment, passes entirely in silence, except for the obligatory good-byes when dropping off Minho at his dorm (which looks entirely unwelcoming, Thomas thinks, and, seeing the disgruntled grey building which resembles a prison cell, he could understand why Minho would want to spend more time at the apartment instead) and the question of who’s driving. Thomas doesn’t mind silence, normally, but when it’s created to avoid talking about _important_ things, he doesn’t like it as much.

 

***

 

When they get back to the apartment, Newt says he’s tired and doesn’t want to watch anything, even though it’s their night to watch the weekly episode of _Doctor Who_ , and although Thomas gets the message—Newt doesn’t want to talk—he still feels hurt.

So Thomas goes to his own room and starts watching _Lord of the Rings_ for the millionth time, but he can’t get into it, so he picks up his phone and calls Teresa. She answers immediately, and Thomas thinks she must have been waiting ever since he spent the weekend with her and Brenda. Waiting for him to call, whether it’s for advice or information or to tell her what’s happened to him. And in this case, it’s all of those.

Once Thomas finishes telling Teresa everything that’s occurred in the past few weeks, he waits. Teresa hums thoughtfully while she thinks it over, and Thomas feels stupid for trying to rush her. It is, after all, quite a lot of information to try to make someone process all at once, even if that someone is Teresa.

“You said both Minho _and_ Newt,” Teresa says eventually, sounding like she’s trying not to laugh or cry, Thomas can’t tell which, but it irritates him for some reason which he can’t explain except that she isn’t focusing on the main problem, and instead asking for details.

“Yes,” he says tersely, “I said both.”

“Just trying to make sure we’re both on the same page here,” Teresa soothes him, and Thomas can almost see the smile on her face. “To get it straight—or rather _not—_ you said that you’re not currently in a relationship with _two_ guys, both of whom you’ve had a crush on, and you’re _complaining_ about this?”

“It sounds stupid when you say it like that,” Thomas says sullenly. He doesn’t want to be ridiculed by his own sister.

Teresa somehow manages to laugh and sigh at the same time. “Tom, I don’t mean to insult you or anything. I just want to see the whole picture. You’re now dating—ah, in a relationship with—Minho _and_ Newt, like you actually discussed this whole thing?”

“We discussed it, yeah,” Thomas says, switching the phone to his other ear, and looks over at the screen of his computer, still playing the movie. On the screen, Frodo is climbing a mountain. “But that’s _all_ we did, Teresa. I don’t know, what are you supposed to do in this kind of situation?”

“Don’t ask me, I’ve never been in a threesome,” Teresa says, definitely trying not to laugh. “But I think it would be pretty similar to what you do in a normal relationship, Tom. Talk to them. If you really don’t know, ask them. The impression I get is that Minho and Newt don’t know much more than you do, Tom, except for the fact that they’ve been together for longer. _Talk_ to them.”

“Okay,” Thomas sighs, then adds, on a whim, “hey, can you and Brenda come over for dinner or something? Soon?”

“Absolutely,” Teresa responds promptly, then yells, “ _Brends, get your stuff! We’re going over to Tom’s for dinner—yes, right now!—I’ll drive, okay—yeah_.”

“ _Why are we going to dinner right now?_ ” yells Brenda in response, her voice muffled.

“ _Because he’s having a crisis and needs our help—shut up, Brends, and get your stuff ready, right now_ ,” demands Teresa, then returns her attention to Thomas, who’s been cringing at the volume of the yelling. “Tom, we’re on our way.”

“I can tell,” mumbles Thomas. He looks back at the computer screen, watching Frodo turn invisible and visible again. “Should I be worried?”

“Extremely,” Teresa purrs, then, “make sure they’re both there,” and then there’s a single, solitary click and the line goes dead.

 

***

 

Thomas remains in his room for a long time, staring at the glowing screen on his phone and wondering why his life can’t be more like the one Teresa has. Eventually he gets up and walks towards Newt’s room to warn him about Teresa’s and Brenda’s immanent arrival, but when he knocks on the door Newt yells something indistinguishable and then yanks the door open violently. Thomas steps back in shock, forgetting why he wanted to talk to Newt in the first place, but Newt looks expectantly at Thomas until he manages to stammer, “B-Brenda and Teresa are g-going to come over here for d-dinner if you don’t, if you don’t, don’t mind,” hating himself for stumbling over the words.

Newt raises his eyebrows sceptically and leans against the door frame. “Is there a reason for this impromptu visit? Also, should I call Minho and tell him to come over? Or should I tell him _no_ , by all means, do _not_ come over?”

“Um,” says Thomas, trying to work that one over in his head. “You should probably make him come over for dinner too, I guess. Teresa sounded pretty firm—she told me to make sure you were both here. You know Teresa,” he adds helplessly.

“Yeah,” Newt admits. “Good point. Okay, I’ll call him. Why don’t you actually do something helpful and set the table or cook something instead of sitting around on your arse like usual?”

“Oh, so we’re to the insulting stage of our relationship?” says Thomas, trying to sound offended, but the whole thing is so ridiculous that he can’t help but to laugh.

“Minho’s never not been in that stage, so be warned,” Newt says, also starting to laugh. “Go do something, Tommy. I’ll call Minho and tell him to be here. I’m sure he won’t mind it at all.”

“Good,” Thomas says, and it’s only after he’s already in the kitchen and trying to figure out the directions for macaroni and cheese off the back of the box that he realises how much he means that one simple word.

 

***

 

Minho arrives before Teresa, thankfully, and it appears that Newt’s already had time to prepare him, because when he walks in the door he wastes no time in shouting, “How long do we have until the girls get here?”

“I have no bloody idea,” Newt says, hurrying from the kitchen to the hall. Thomas can hear the two of them having a quiet conversation and tries not to feel jealous— _that was one thing we agreed on, Thomas,_ he reminds himself—but ends up stirring the pasta with a surly sort of look on his face.

Minho and Newt return to the kitchen, and Minho kisses Thomas on the cheek. “Look at you, making pasta,” he says fondly, patting Thomas’s hand with his own, although the wicked smirk on his face undermines the kindness, “it’s almost like we’re an old married—threepeoplewhodonotliveinthesamehousebuthappentobeinarelationship,” he finishes in a rush.

Newt hastily turns his laugh into a cough.

 

***

 

Teresa and Brenda arrive in only about fifteen minutes, and their arrival is heralded by Teresa slamming both of her fists onto the door and yelling Thomas’s name at the top of her voice. Thomas hurries to open the door and accepts her embrace, looking over her shoulder to see Brenda tagging apologetically behind.

Once Teresa lets go of Thomas what seems like several hours later, after whispering in his ear “I hope you stay happy,” she exclaims over his shoulder, “Minho, Newt, nice to see you too! C’mere,” she says, holding out her arms, and pulling them both into another hug. Thomas’s face is burning with embarrassment, and he’s grateful that they’ve both met Teresa before—because what must it be like, meeting her for the first time?

Probably frightening, Thomas thinks ruefully, as Brenda follows Teresa into the apartment and Minho leads the way to the tiny living room, where they’re planning on eating dinner. Probably frightening.

“I haven’t been to this place in so long,” Teresa gushes, looking happily around the tiny room. “Tom, you have so many movies—”

“Most of them are his,” Newt interrupts, “all the geeky ones—”

“—I can’t imagine having the time to watch all of them.”

“He spends a lot of time at it,” Minho says as he brings the food into the room. They don’t have a dining room, or really much of a table at all; Thomas and Newt are used to eating in the living room while watching television, but it poses a slight drawback when guests are over.

“It’s nice,” Brenda says, also looking around. “Definite lack of table, but I like it.”

Teresa smiles devilishly and leans over to kiss Brenda on the cheek. “It’s good that you like it, Brends, because if you didn’t I would make them buy a new one, just to suit you.”

Thomas sighs and gives Teresa a pointed look warning her not to make him any more embarrassed in front of his—friends? Boyfriends? They haven’t decided on what to call themselves yet, but Thomas thinks this is probably not the best time to bring it up.

When they all find seats on chairs or couches (Brenda ends up sitting on Teresa’s lap, although there’s plenty more room for her on the smaller couch) and are eating dinner, things start to calm down. It’s almost like before, Thomas thinks, having dinner with his friends, his sister, and his sister’s girlfriend. Brenda and Teresa are good company, and don’t try to pry into things that aren’t their business. And both Newt and Minho, who haven’t talked to Brenda very much before, warm quickly and are soon chatting animatedly with the girls.

Teresa and Minho are soon deep in conversation about college and majors of different types (which Thomas can’t keep up with) and Brenda and Newt are discussing books. Thomas watches them happily, realising he has no desire to join in the conversations at all. He’s satisfied just to watch them get along.

Teresa won’t let it happen, of course. “Tom, darling,” she says, deliberately condescending, “do you want us to stay for the night? We don’t have to; it’s only a few hours’ drive, and we don’t have to be anywhere tomorrow.”

“No,” Newt says, “you can stay over if you want to—that is, if you don’t mind sleeping on the couch?” He looks over to Thomas for reassurance; Thomas nods halfheartedly.

Teresa shudders delicately. “I thank you for the offer, but I don’t think I could bear to sleep on a couch,” she says, taking Brenda’s hand and squeezing it. “We can drive home, it isn’t that much of a problem. We make this drive all the time to come visit Aris, you know.”

Thomas frowns; he didn’t know that they drove into town so frequently, but he lets it go. “If that’s your plan, you should probably get going soon, so you don’t have to drive in the dark,” he points out.

“Yes, I think we should,” Teresa sighs. She thanks Minho and Newt for their hospitality and food, then drags Thomas into the hall to talk. “Tom, listen to me. All I want to know from you is if you’re happy. Are you?”

“Yes,” says Thomas, understanding at once. “Yes, Teresa, I’m happy. I know it isn’t exactly what you’d think of, but I’m happy with it. You don’t have to worry.”

Teresa sighs again and forces a smile onto her face which looks convincing enough. “I always worry about you, baby brother. It’s the job of an older sister, to look out for the younger, weaker one.”

“I’m not a baby, and you’re only three minutes older than me,” Thomas says peevishly. Teresa smiles for real, then hugs him again, tightly, and then she and Brenda are out the door and getting into their car, bickering good-naturedly over who has to drive.

Thomas stands in the hallway for a moment, watching their car pull away down the road, then turns and walks back to the living room. Newt and Minho are sitting on the couch, not touching, finishing the rest of the macaroni and cheese. They both look up when Thomas enters the room, and Minho actually gets up. “Hey, is it okay with you if I stay over tonight? I don’t mean _that_ way,” Minho adds quickly, laughing at the look on Thomas’s face. “Not unless you really want it.”

“Stop teasing him, Min,” Newt calls grumpily from his position on the couch, “or that won’t happen at all.”

“Oh, both of you shut up,” Thomas says, irritated with himself as much as he’s irritated with them. “Minho, I don’t care if you stay over. I mean, I care, but I—oh shit,” he moans, covering his face with both of his hands. “I’m really terrible at this.”

Minho walks over and pulls Thomas’s hands away. “As long as you’re not terrible when it counts,” he says in a low voice that makes Thomas shiver involuntarily.

“We don’t have to share a bed, Tommy, I don’t think we’d all bloody fit,” Newt points out. Thomas can’t help but laugh at that; it’s probably true. “Anyway, did you have any other plans for the night?”

Before Thomas can say anything, Minho speaks. “I had plenty of plans,” he says, still in that same low voice that Thomas can’t decide if he hates or loves. “And I think . . . we should probably sit on the couch and watch _Lord of the Rings_.”

Now Thomas can’t stop laughing, although Newt looks reproachful. “ _Minho_ ,” he tries to say, but Minho is laughing too, and he grabs Newt around the waist and pulls him closer, until Newt finally gives in and starts laughing with them.

 

***

 

And Thomas thinks that if this is what being in a relationship with the both of them is going to be like, he isn’t at all disappointed in how in ended up being. He sits down on the couch with them, Minho in the middle for once (which is strangely appropriate, although Thomas tries not to think about that), and they start watching the movie. It only takes about half an hour before Thomas decides that this is how he wants it to be forever: not just friendly appreciation, but mutual love.


End file.
